


Gifts Not For Giving

by CinnaAtHeart



Series: From the Head Down [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: All of the Snark, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bromance, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Kidnapping, LoL Ironman 3 what Ironman 3, Loki Does What He Wants, Master of Death Harry, Mentor Loki, Or as close as he can get, Parallel Universes, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Through the Veil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hadn't asked to be the Master of Death; nor had he asked to be stolen by a sociopath with Daddy-issues. He’ll deal with it anyway, but only because the bloody door refuses to open for him.<br/>…<br/>“They told me you were insane.”<br/>He laughs at that, “Oh did they?” He draws in close enough for Harry to pick out each of his eyelashes, “And do you agree with their assessment? Now that you see me here in the flesh?”<br/>“Well if you are sane, you’re not really selling your argument.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift Not For Giving

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part two of the Head Down universe. That said, you must read its predecessor for this to make any sense at all to you. So you know... I suggest you do that... Also a great big thanks to everyone who left kudos/comments/bookmarks on my work!  
> Updates will be fortnightly, on Saturdays in the Asia-Pacific region and late Friday everywhere else.

Harry wakes to an overwhelming sense of confusion.

The last thing he can remember is an explosion so loud it was silent, starting in his chest and spreading through his limbs like fire.

Oh, and the unshakable certainty that he was about to die. Which to be frank, is probably where the root of all his confusion stems from. Because, yeah… he _feels_ alive. As opposed to being dead. Which he probably should have been; shots to the chest like that-

Holy _shit._

Shots to the chest. He’d been shot in the _fucking chest_. His heart stutters momentarily and in a sudden onset of panic, his hands fly up to his ribcage.

He feels…

Nothing but soft fabric and the slight hardness of the buttons on his shirt. Which _feels_ dry, and not sticky, like he’d imagine a shirt soaked in blood would. A cautious venture at the skin beneath his shirt tells his that there is nothing there but unmarked skin. Warily, as the idea occurs to him, he opens his eyes. His ocular sense confirms the observations his tactile senses have found. His chest is unharmed. No bandages, no blood- not even any damage to his shirt- which is the same one he’d been wearing when they’d gone to meet Malfoy. He can tell by the small ketchup stain beside the third button that he’d managed to hide from Hermione.

How is he even alive? Hermione may have spoken tentatively about the _possibilities_ that he couldn’t die, and they’d known about his accelerated healing for a while now, but it wasn’t exactly a theory anyone was particularly interested in testing. In fact, Harry had considered the idea ludicrous, and quite frankly, impossible. And sure, he had fallen all that way with no parachute and managed to survive, but he’d kind of pinned that down to some unconscious actualisation of his magic that had realised death was imminent and proceeded to prevent it. But this… he’d been shot. Harry knew he’d been shot; he’d _felt_ it. Felt the bullet tear through his flesh like it was butter mixed with concrete. He’d felt the jarring pain on his tailbone when he’d fallen. There was no mistaking the sensation of being shot, nor the absolute truth that he was about to die.

So _why_ was it that he was lying here, with his clothing stubbornly insisting that he was not in fact dead, and- perhaps more importantly- had never been shot at all?

Was this… was this _magic?_ Had someone used magic on him? Made it like he’d never been shot at all?

He sits up, inspecting his chest more thoroughly this time; fingers fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt in his anxiousness. He pushes away the shiver of power he feels as his thumb brushes against the Hallows pendant. His skin is clean and unmarked- well, except for the usual scars and marks- those he’s used to.

It was as if nothing had ever happened to him.

He didn’t know of any spells that could do that. And even if Hermione had managed to cast one- which was unlikely- it didn’t explain why he was wearing the same shirt as before…

He stares suspiciously at the fabric of his button-down, thoughts racing through his head.

There was the ever increasing likelihood that he’d never been shot at all. It was certainly possible; magic was more than capable of convincing you that untrue things were in fact true. Things like someone being shot, for instance. High-grade illusions like that were uncommon- most wizards preferred to do the real thing- but they weren’t unheard of.

But who would even do that? The only person on this Earth that he knew definitively had the ability to use that kind of magic was-

Which was a ridiculous idea. There was no way Sirius would do that. His godfather may have been getting cabin fever before Harry’s disastrous foray into the Department of Ministries, but he wasn’t mad. He certainly wouldn’t _shoot_ him. Or pretend to shoot him. Besides that, how would he have even discovered he and Hermione had ended up here? It had been coming up to two decades since he’d seen his godfather fall through the Veil; there was no guarantee he was even alive still and their initial searches for him had turned up empty-handed.

It had to be someone else; someone not on SHIELD’s radar. Or, someone who _was_ on SHIELD’s radar, just as much as SHIELD was on theirs. None come to mind, but that’s hardly surprising.

And _why?_ Why pretend to shoot him and then leave him to wake up of his own accord?

Harry flops back down onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling, his confusion returning in full force. The ceiling stares back impassively. It’s an old fashioned, deep red coloured wood; completely and radically different from the impeccably plastered white ceilings of the Tower (in a way, it reminds him of Grimmauld Place, but warmer, with less cobwebs and lacking the absurd levels of melancholy and depression the house seemed to unknowingly induce). In fact, he can’t imagine Tony ever owning a property with such ceiling décor. Which meant he probably wasn’t in any of Tony’s extensive list of properties.

Curious, he sits back up, glancing around the room he’s in cautiously. He’s in a bedroom- probably about as large as the one he’s been living in at Tony’s- with three large bay windows, detailed with timber the same warm colour as the ceiling. The room is bright and lavish and richly furnished. Beside his bed is an ornately carved duchess in walnut, with wooden flowers embracing the mirror, and plush cushions are gathered artistically in the window seats. The far wall is covered with books- most of them leather-bound and expensive looking and absolutely perfect for Hermione. An equally expensive looking settee sits in front of it, facing the window. Its upholstery matches the light, earthy green paint of the walls.  

It’s a nice room, but tells him absolutely nothing about where he is. And nice isn’t enough to make him want to stay there.

He stands. His legs don’t shake at all- which is comforting- and the only unsteadiness he feels is the momentary blackening of his vision as his body grows accustomed to the change in altitude. He walks over to the windows. White light streams in through lace curtains and he draws one aside to peer outside.

Trees. Lots and lots of trees, tall and proud and _green_. The house (which Harry suspects might be a mansion if this room is anything to go by) is the in middle of a bloody pine forest. Which is new; Harry’s never seen a mansion in the middle of a forest before. It actually sounds pretty cool; he wonders if the tree’s loom over the building, tall and sombre. He tugs on the window latch experimentally- it doesn’t budge.

A shame. He would have liked to have been able to open it.

“I see you’re awake.”

Harry yelps in fright, turning around so quickly he whacks his hand on the edge of the window. He scowls, shaking his throbbing knuckles. A man stands on the other side of the room, holding a book in his left hand. He smiles in amusement at Harry’s misfortune, his green eyes sparkling. His long pointed face is handsomely expressive, and his dark hair is combed backward as if to bring attention to it, but there’s an undercurrent to his thin-lipped smile- hidden away in his eyes- that makes Harry think that part of it is just a mask to hide dark thoughts.

“Who are you?” Harry tries his hardest not to sound rude, but it’s a close thing. He can feel the magic seeping off the man’s skin from the other side of the room; chances are he was the one that had ‘shot’ him, and that didn’t leave him in a particularly generous mood.

“An impartial observer.”

“Er… right.” Because of course, all impartial observers shoot people in the chest and kidnap them.

The man smirks and lounges on the settee, his book opening on his lap, though he doesn’t deign to look at it. He looks long and thin, stretched across the furniture like that.

“Sit.” The way he phrases it makes it less of an offer and more of a demand. Harry has the sudden impression that this man is used to his invitations being taken as orders. For a moment, he’s tempted to rebel, but the man’s smirk isn’t really something he wants to go up against. He moves forward and sits in the armchair that faces the settee. The condescending smile turns into one of approval.

“Why am I here?” It seems the most obvious thing to ask, after the man had side-stepped his earlier question.

He closes his book, his gaze turning intense, “Because I needed to know something. Among other things.”

Harry leans backs in his chair. It is shamefully comfortable; “You couldn’t just ask?”

A tic of the head, as though conceding some unsaid point, “This was more convenient.”

“You _shot_ me.”

He snorts, “I created the _illusion_ that I shot you.” _Yeah, and it was one convincing bloody illusion._

“Everyone must think I’m dead!”

He shrugs with his face, “Your point?”

Harry wipes a hand across his face in frustration. This man was obtuse to the point of being obnoxious, “SHIELD thinks I’ve been shot. Hermione thi- oh _fuck Hermione!”_ He jumps up, all but running over to the door. Hermione, _Hermione,_ he had to get back to Hermione; Merlin she thought he was dead she’d be worried _sick-_

“ _Sit down_.”

Harry freezes. He’s not entirely sure if it’s an involuntary reaction to the sheer threat in the green-eyed man’s voice, or the faint tendrils of magic seeping off him that stops him.

“Your friend is intelligent; she knows you cannot die. They know you are missing.”

“That doesn’t really help!” He turns around, whatever had been holding him in place disappearing easily enough. The stranger is suddenly close enough for him to touch, and his eyes have an intensity to them that’s more intimidating than anything Harry’s seen for a long time.

“You are unharmed. They are aware you are not dead. It could be worse. Now, _sit down._ ”

Harry complies, but he’d like to make it known that he’s unhappy to do so. Between one blink and the next the stranger is back to lounging on the settee as though he hadn’t just threatened to shoot him again with his eyes alone. Harry glares and is completely ignored.

“You used magic on me!” Inwardly he winces at how petty he sounds. As if he had been much better in his own universe.

He huffs an amused laugh, “Which time? When I shot you, or just a moment ago?” Harry frowns at the acknowledgment of his questionable actions.

“Both.”

“So? I used magic on you. You are not defenceless- you have enough power to have superseded my own, but you did not. And you are untouched; so why the indignance?” Harry sorely wants to tell him it’s because he’d _shot_ him, but he doesn’t want to make the conversation run around in endless circles. But he still wants answers. Badly.

 “What do you want with me?”

“You have a very powerful gift.” The man remarks, ignoring his question. His eyes are suddenly trained on his chest, where Harry’s pendant lies exposed. He stiffens defensively at the unfettered intensity of his gaze.

“It can’t be given.”

“But it could be taken?”

“Maybe... I’d really rather you didn’t.” His eyes break away from the pendant, and he laughs. It seems unhinged; as does his grin.

“And do you think you could stop me if I was so inclined to try?”

“Uh… also maybe?”

Nutjob gives him a distinctly Malfoy-esque sneer, “Harry Potter. First and final Master of the Deathly Hallows and completely unwilling to use them. What a formidable picture you paint for the world.”

Harry can think of nothing effective to say in reply to that. He knew his name; _fuck,_ he even knew about the Hallows and yet Harry knew absolutely _nothing_ about _him_. What was he _supposed_ to say in response?

“… What are you going to do to me?” Batshit-Crazy huffs a laugh.

“You mortals always think I’m out to take things from you.” _Mortal, he called me a mortal_. That was probably an important element of his identity… Thor sometimes referred to them as mortals; maybe this man was like him?

He shrugs casually, though his mind is racing, “To be fair- you did kidnap me, after shooting me- pretend or not- in the chest. Actions like that normally have people thinking you’re up to no good.”

“Point.” Fruitcake comments, leaning back in his chair, “Would you laugh if I said it was a joke?”

“Um… Probably not.”

Screwball sighs heavily and runs a long-fingered hand through his hair, “My genius is lost on this plane of existence.”

_Is that what you’re calling it?_

“So- ah… Who are you, again?” The sharp gaze that seems completely incongruous with the rest of Barmy’s actions settles back on him. At least the soft smile on his lips doesn’t seem _too_ foreboding.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know… I’m surprised they haven’t lauded my defeat enough times for you to recall it by heart.”

The clues lock into place. _Oh shit_. Suddenly the insanity makes sense.

“You’re Loki.”

“Got it in one!” He crows, jumping up from his chair to pace the room.

“You’re Thor’s brother. You’re supposed to be _dead_.”

“See, thing with _supposed to,_ is that it’s not compulsory.”

Loki laughs heartily at the dumbfounded expression that must be covering his face.

“You’re a _criminal_. The invasion killed _hundreds_ of people!”

Loki shrugs, unaffected.

“They told me you were insane.”

He laughs at that, “Oh did they?” He draws in close enough for Harry to pick out each of his eyelashes, “And do you agree with their assessment? Now that you see me here _in the flesh?_ ”

“Well if you _are_ sane, you’re not really selling your argument.”

Loki draws back, laughing delightedly and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. That comment could easily have gone either way. He sits back down, drawing a knife from a sheath in his belt.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The Asgardian snorts in a very ungodlike fashion, “Why would I want to do that?”

Harry’s eyes stray over to the door that he knows will never open for him, “Well, you don’t have the best of track records.”

He grins- all teeth- and lies back down on the furniture, “At least I have one. You have nothing, Harry Potter. An immortal who’s only companion is mortal, and has proved to be far more useful than you’re likely to be.”

Harry bites back a scathing retort and Loki’s eyes widen momentarily before turning smug. He can tell he’s laughing at him.

“You fear them.” Harry can’t stop himself from fidgeting and the Asgardian laughs in disbelief, latching onto the truths he’d managed to uncover, “You fear the Hallows. You fear what they represent; what they mean for _you._ ” Harry returned the unblinking stare defiantly (defensively).

“You fear the fates that will befall those around you.” The sneer turns vicious as he picks apart the fears Harry had never dared to speak aloud, “But most of all- most of all you fear its _power_. So you’ve been ignoring them. You act as though that pendant is nothing more than a piece of _silver._ As though they could never be anything more. As though you could throw them away when the moment’s right.”

Harry flinches. Loki leans forward and there’s nothing he’d like more in the world right now than to be able to look away.

“You are _pathetic_ Harry Potter. Power like yours cannot be thrown away. The Hallows are _tied_ to you. To lose them would _obliterate_ you.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” The angry words escape from his mouth before he can tamp them down. He stands again to hide his trepidation in the sullen movements, “You think I haven’t been plagued with that knowledge the last fifteen years of my life?”

Loki sits back again, the picture of nonchalance, “And yet you have done nothing.”

“I _did!_ The first thing I did was try and get rid of them.” Loki scoffs in contempt, “And when that didn’t work the first fifty times, I researched the Hallows for _years_! I found _nothing_. The Hallows were just a story; their creation was never legitimately documented. No one ever bothered to speculate over what their joining could mean! What was I supposed to do?”

“Accept them. Discover their power on your own terms.”

“What terms? I can _feel_ it. I can feel them; every waking minute of the day, I can feel their presence-”

“And it scares you.” Loki is sneering at him and Harry is wishing for nothing more than to wipe the look from his face. He is _not weak_.

“You don’t know what it’s like! They’re _cursed. Evil._ It’s like a taint spread across the back of my mind, waiting to spread its fingers. I can’t escape it.”

A muscle around Loki’s left eye twitches minutely, “And has it ever occurred to you that they only feel this way because their magic is different?”

“They’re _cursed_! The first two Hallows were made to bring their masters to Death as quickly as possible; no good comes from their use. Death follows them, and the invisibility cloak can only spread so far.”

“You cannot live in denial for all eternity. They’ve marked you as different; _better_.”

“Just see me _try._ ”

“Your friends will age whilst you remain youthful. They’ll _die_ -”

“I know.” Harry interrupts, almost guiltily. He scuffs his feet as though they could wipe the reality away.

“And you are content to live as though you are truly no different from them.”

He looks away, eyes burning, “Yes.”

“You’re _lying_.”

“ _And what else am I supposed to do?!_ ” He explodes, arms spreading out of their own accord. His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the room, “Think of myself as better than everyone else? Forget that all life is sacred because mine will never end?”

“Death will follow you whether you accept it or not. You must know this.”

He laughs, long and hard and desperately. Thoughts of Ron and his family fill his mind.

“Don’t you know, mate? It already has.”

“Then you see my point.”

“I _couldn’t_! To do that… to do that…”

“Would mark you a freak.” He flinches again, because the cold and emotionless words hit far too close to home. He’d never been able to escape his uniqueness, not even in a world filled with the extraordinary.

“I accepted death.” He breathes, facing Loki with a pleading expression, “All those years ago I stood before a psychopath and I let him kill me. And now I cannot die. I am the universe’s unending joke.” He swears bitterly, his body spinning about violently as though throwing something at the wall. If he weren’t so concerned about Loki possibly following through with the threats his eyes had spoken of before, he probably would.

Silence reigns in the room and Harry glares furiously out at the benign lace curtains and the forest of green behind them. And he’ll never admit to the way they blur dangerously the longer he stares, or the way his eyes burn and his throat closes convulsively before he can pull himself back under control.

“You can’t reverse what has been done and you shouldn’t fear the Hallows’ power.” Comes Loki’s level voice minutes later, slow and sombre.

“How can I not?” He turns around, holding his head proudly though he knows his eyes are desperate, “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t seek it out. I didn’t-” he bites his tongue before he went on a rant, “Mastery of the Hallows is a _curse_ , for those who had accepted their mortality. And now that it’s lost I just want it back.”

_I don’t want to be alone the rest of my ‘life’._

Loki sneers viciously and Harry is momentarily convinced the god is channelling Snape, before he remember he had no reason to know who that was, “Spare me the pity party, _boy_. It does you no favours; presented with the opportunity, you preferred that I didn’t try to steal the Hallows. Despite all your posturing and bemoaning, you’d rather keep them then have them gone. And yet you _refuse_ to use them.”

Harry stares at the Asgardian for a long moment, “How could I possibly pass this curse onto someone else and keep a clear conscience? Even if I could give them to someone willing; they’re so open to _abuse_.”

“And that’s your greatest fear, isn’t it?” He laughs, contempt shining through his eyes, “That’s why you refuse to use them though it makes you weak. That even _you-_ the great Harry Potter- could grow addicted to their use. How very _noble_ of you.”’

Harry turns away again, shielding himself from those eyes. They’re far too sharp for them to lead to anything good. There’s not exactly he can say in reply to it anyway.

“And when someone dies of your inaction? Would you deign to use the wand then? Without practice it would be like performing open-heart surgery with a hammer. Objects that powerful require repeated… applications to perform with any kind of finesse. To not touch it could be damming those closest to you to die from your negligence when others come after you power.

“And they will. Mark my words, there are whispers of your presence spreading already. They will come, and people will die and it will be _all your fault_.”

In the corner of his eye, the carved duchess begins to rattle ominously.

“ _Control yourself_ Harry Potter.” Loki snarls from right behind him and he jumps violently, “I will not have your magic acting like a bratty child in my sanctuary.”

Harry flushes, throwing a glance at the other man, “I-” he breaks off, looking at the ground, “Sorry.” Loki snorts derisively.

“You wouldn’t be having such a problem if you used your magic more often. And I’d imagine it’ll be getting worse. All that untapped energy, Potter. Rushing through your veins… It needs an outlet.”

Harry sighs heavily, staring out the window. Loki was right about that at least. Unused magic could easily turn volatile and ultimately, violent as it eagerly tapped into one’s emotions. It wasn’t so bad yet, but without a wand he could use and only so much skills at wandless magic, he was a ticking time bomb.

“You _need_ to use the wand. If not for your benefit, then for the benefit of others.”

A muscle in his jaw clenches uncomfortably. Loki was the god lies, mischief and- most importantly- manipulation. His words were there to lure him, Harry was sure of it. To what ends, he wasn’t so confident on, but it was a game that he was sure he would inevitably lose; especially if he chose to follow the fallen Asgardian’s advice. He wasn’t even sure if an avoidance tactic would work; for all he knew, Loki was acting this way knowing Harry would discount his ‘advice’, and walk straight into some well-planned trap.

Times like now, he rather wishes he had the stereotypical Slytherin streak of cunning, if only to keep his head above water.

But at least for now, he could maybe redirect the conversation in tamer territory. Territory that hopefully had some benefit to himself.

“How-” he turns around to face the dark-haired Asgardian; he stands only a foot away from him and Harry takes an involuntary step backwards. Loki watches him with expectant eyes, “-How do you know so much about me anyway? Our universes are strangers.”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you and your kind ever since you appeared.”

“My kind… you mean you knew about the criminals too?”

“I’ve known about the Veil for a long, long time; your lot has been popping up for centuries. Some of your kind were… glorious.” His face takes on a wistful cast, “I took one under my wing once- centuries ago now. He proved to be the most diligent of disciples. Others... they were rabid, and they were exterminated. I never bothered myself with them.”

The gears whir through his mind at the first real information he’s hear about the Veil since they arrived here. Loki said people had been sent through both ways, which confirmed the possibility that they could return to their own universe with minimal trouble. The relief is palpable.

“Do y- do you know what happened to it? Why we can’t find it?”

Loki says nothing and Harry resists the urge to hit something in the sudden surge of frustration. Loki held all the cards, it would seem, but was unwilling to deal any of them out.

“ _Please._ ” He pleads, knowing already that it will fall on deaf ears. Manipulators did not get by, by being distracted by puppy dog eyes.

Loki smile is small but amused at the obvious ploy, “Information comes at a price, boy.”

Harry frowns in annoyance. The phrase brings with it the unwelcome reminder of his childhood at the Dursley’s, “I’m not a boy.”

Loki laughs spitefully, “ _Please_ , to me you are _less_ than a boy; an infant. To be called higher than such is a compliment.”

_Well it didn’t bloody feel like it._

He tries for a different angle, “Where did it come from? Do you know?”

“It’s a relic of the beginning of all things.”

That stumps him for a moment. Is he talking about the beginning of the _universe?_ Because if so, that’s some pretty hardcore stuff. Shit, it would mean he’d travelled through something that was _literally_ as old as time itself, which was a concept far larger than anything the human brain could comprehend, “You mean, like the big bang?”

“Like the big bang.” Loki accedes, a smirk tugging at his lips. Harry senses there’s far more to it than just ‘the big bang’. Not for the first time, he wishes Hermione was here. She would have been able to make more sense out of Loki’s borderline obtuse answers. And would probably manage to ask the right kind of questions too.

“Are there other ones? Veil’s for different parallel universes? Is Earth the only one with such?”

Again, Loki doesn’t reply. Harry grits his teeth. Information about the Veil was obviously only going to be fed to him on a case by case basis. That was going to prove annoying. He chooses another topic.

“Where am I?”

Loki stares at him blankly. Harry knows better than to try legilimency on him, but it’s sorely tempting.

Abruptly, the Asgardian moves away. Harry watches the movement in confusion.

“I must go.” The taller man offers in explanation, the tone of his voice effectively ending their conversation. If one could call it that.

“What about me?” Harry asks, anxious, before the Asgardian can leave, “Am I free to go?” Loki laughs loudly on his way to the door and turns to face him when he reaches it.

“I tell you what,” he smirks, eyes glittering with amusement, “If you manage to get out, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

And with that, he walks through the door as though it never existed.


	2. (A)Pathetic Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pathetic Fallacy: The attribution of human emotions or characteristics to inanimate objects or to nature
> 
> SPOILER ALERT FOR THOR 2! ALERT ALERT! SPOILERY SPOILERS FOR THOR 2 AHEAD!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite sure an interlinear translation of the Poetic or Prose Edda's doesn't exist- and if they do, I couldn't find one on the internet. For those who don't know what they are- google 'interlinear bible'; they typically have direct translations from Greek and Hebrew and are pretty cool academic resources.

In hindsight, it should probably have been quite obvious that the door only worked that way for Loki.

A fact that his pride is now quite forcefully reminding him of as he sits on his ass, glaring childishly at the walnut door that had refused to turn immaterial for him when he’d tried to walk through it.  Harry gets the distinct impression that his room is now laughing at him.

The windows, upon inspection, are equally as inaccessible. No matter how forcefully he tugs at the brass latches they refuse to open, and throwing his remarkably heavy chair at them only succeeds in injuring himself as the wooden monstrosity inexplicably bounces straight back at him, unharmed.

The ceiling creaks in amusement. Harry restrains the urge to flip it the bird. Personification of inanimate structures serve no purpose but to confirm his petulance to the Asgardian who is undoubtedly watching him from somewhere in this godforsaken room; Harry had had a little giggle (that was _not_ hysterical) at the play on words. The walls prove impervious too; in the vain hope that Loki had neglected to ward them, he’d tried digging his way out through the plaster. The end result is more bouncing chairs and more than one rebounded hit to the head. The headache that follows is enough to deter him from escaping for now.

For a time, he lies on the settee Loki had vacated the half-hour before; content to moan piteously about the throbbing between his temples to the apathetic ceiling. Sooner or later though, he inevitably grows bored and turns to the book-filled shelves that line two of the walls. Many of them are in languages he can’t read, but there is still a large enough selection of English books for him to know that Hermione would sell her first-born child to get her hands on even a couple of the volumes. They’re all- for the most part- old and antique-y, with the kinds of gilded and leather bound covers and rich golden paper that automatically makes him hesitant to even touch them; let alone read them.

He does anyway. He figures- if Loki didn’t want them touched- they wouldn’t have been stuck up on the wall with the rest of the presumably priceless tomes. Certainly not in a room with a bored wizard with Merlin knows how much time on his hands.

He runs a hand along the spines of the books and picks one at random with his eyes closed. The cover- when he peeks- is blank, but for the filigree work in the corners. The text inside is in… well, he’s not quite sure _what_ it’s in, but the language is most certainly _not_ English. He returns it to the shelf and tries again; not much luck this time either, though at least this one he’s pretty sure is in German. The third is in Russian- probably- with a significantly more modern bindings, and has a long series of _very_ interesting engravings inside. He can tell his face is blushing when he puts it away, and he most certainly _did not_ stare for longer than was truly necessary at the diagram on page 57. The fourth book is finally in a language he can understand- that being, English- and is satisfyingly weighty. The cover is a simple, fabric bound thing that leaves him feeling far less anxious about touching than any of the leather bound tomes. It reads in gold; _The Poetic Edda: an Interlinear Translation from Old Icelandic to English._

Harry’s vaguely aware that the Edda’s are some kind of anthology of the old Norse Gods, but he has no idea what an ‘interlinear translation’ is. He opens the book up a random in curiosity. The pages are split in half; one half is in what he’d suppose is Icelandic-given the book’s title- with a literal English translation below each line; most of it doesn’t make any grammatical sense. The other half of the pages are in complete English, altered so that they’re readable. The pages are littered with footnotes in reference to the translations and their relevance to other works that Harry knows nothing about. It’s a cool use of the original manuscript, but admittedly rather useless to someone who can’t read Icelandic- in his opinion at least. Even so, something tells him that this was still a book Hermione would kill to get her hands on.

Content in his find (even if it’s mostly because he can laud it over Hermione when he gets back to her), he settles down on the settee Loki had vacated. He’s pleased to find that it’s far more comfortable that it had looked.

He starts at the beginning; partly because it’s a challenge and partly because he figures he should at least know something about his captor. Besides his megalomaniacal tendencies and obvious flair for the dramatics, Loki hadn’t really been a character any of his new friends had ever really discussed. Harry suspects he might have been a bit of a taboo subject- certainly, the one time Thor had mentioned him, he’d been referred to in the past tense and there’d been a deep sadness reflected in his eyes that made him reluctant to press the subject further. In all honestly, Harry had suspected he was dead.

The pages are thin and luxuriously smooth, and the spine is in good condition. He spends a good hour and a half reading the text- more or less ignoring the Icelandic text.

He gets a good giggle out of ‘The Lay of Thyrm’. The image of the mighty Thor dressed in a white wedding dress and delicate veil, tearing through a table of food with his ‘heart appetite’ has him laughing hysterically. The idea of Thor and Loki dressed as innocent maidens is simultaneously horrendous (and Harry almost wishes for a good obliviate to wipe from his mind the likeness of Thor, with a smattering of chest hair peeking out from the neck of his dress) and utterly hilarious.

“They’re not true, you know.” Harry jumps violently at the voice that materialises behind him, “Or at least, not completely.” Loki moves around to claim the armchair, “There are a few elements that hold their basis in truth, but they’re few and far between.”

He frowns at the man and chooses not to say anything about his abrupt disappearance from before, “Then why do you have them?”

He shrugs, green eyes sparkling unnaturally, “Amusement, mostly. And that’s a collectable; first publication.” As the best friend of Hermione, he doesn’t find that sentiment as puzzling as he thinks he probably should.

“Okay…” he pauses, hoping he’s not about to overstep the bounds of whatever the hell this situation is, “Why did you leave before?”

Loki levels him with a cool look, “I had things to tend to.”

The image of the trickster god tending to a vegetable garden rises unbidden to the front of his mind and he coughs to hide his amusement. Loki’s eyes narrow- his half-hearted ruse clearly failing, “Something funny, boy?”

Harry coughs again and sets the book aside, “Uh… no.”

The other man sits back, large hands resting unthreateningly on his knees, “I see you failed to get through the door.” He remarks in what could almost be called a conversational tone.

He scowls as the imagined pain returns to his tailbone, “No.”

“You could have easily broken through it. The spellwork was simple.”

Harry flushes. He can’t stop the sudden guilt as he realises he hadn’t even tried to get through them.

Loki smiles at him as though reading his mind, “I wonder… were you always this complacent, Harry Potter?”

He bites his lip to hold back a retort that likely wasn’t anywhere near scathing as he’d like to think. The smirk grows wider, “You’re doing it even now.”

“What?” he asks tersely.

“Holding your tongue.” He leans forward; a graceful shift of limbs as he hunkers forward in the chair, hands clasped together loosely, “Something tells me Harry Potter didn’t always like to play the straight and narrow. One doesn’t acquire objects like the Hallows without holding some degree of truculence and recklessness.”

He stares at the Asgardian, refusing to say anything. It was true though; his childhood had been filled with careless decisions and various levels of minor and major rebellions, but he’d tried for normalcy in adulthood for so long that he’s almost forgotten what it was like to risk his life. Tried _too_ hard, if he was honest with himself, and he’d condemned one best friend to death and the other to a life of exile as a result. He’d been striving to reach that unattainable ideal held in his mind for long enough to be blinded by the realities of his situation.

He couldn’t even be normal on the most mundane of levels; after all, he was a _fucking wizard_. He could perform feats on a regular basis that gave the general ‘fuck you’ to the entire laws of physics. He’d been out of the muggle world for long enough that he struggled to keep up with the constant march of technology and social norms. And it was no better as a wizard; Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived and the saviour of the British Wizarding world, Order of Merlin First Class. It wasn’t a position he could just brush away as if it were the remnants of an embarrassing high school experience. People had expected him to remain a public figure, involved in the world he’d spent the remnants of his ruined childhood to protect. Instead he’d withdrawn more and more, refusing to step up to the mark when the Neo-Death Eaters had begun emerging.

Worse; he’d hidden from them entirely as the Neo’s grew in power and viciousness. _Shit_ , but he hadn’t even stepped foot outside the hidden house he’d shared with Hermione for a month when they’d been taken, and it had been even longer since he’d walked through the wizarding world. No wonder the public resented him.

Had anyone even looked for them?

Did anyone even know he and Hermione were gone?

He lets out a shaky breath and stars up at the ceiling to fight the sudden urge to cry. He’d been a complete fucking coward for _far too long_ and in doing so it had cost him and Hermione far too much.

It was a wonder the woman could even stand to look at him. And yet she never even blamed him.

“You’re right.” He breathes, at length, “I’ve challenged nothing but my inability to live a normal life for a long time.”

_And look where it’s gotten you; trapped in a universe that’s not your own and currently being held hostage by an egomaniac who tried to take over the world not too long ago._

What a fucking _joke_.

Loki huffs, amused, “I’m surprised your friend never tried to talk to you about it. She seems fairly intelligent that one- especially for a _Seiðr_.”

Harry stiffens and straightens his neck to watch the trickster god carefully, “What about Hermione?”

Loki’s eyes roll. “I have no intent of trifling with your friend. _She_ at least seems to hold no qualms about ensuring her survival. Nor does she hold any reservations about the idea of normalcy.”

“I swear to God; if you _touch_ her-”

“-You’ll what? Frown and glare at me some more? Potter, the greatest threat you pose to me right not is as a door stop in the case of a fire.”

Harry scowls. He could _surely_ be more of a threat than that.

“That girl of yours could do me more damage than you, _Master of Death_.” He leans back, crossing a long leg over the other, contempt saturating his every line, “Tell me, what’s the point of holding a title like yours, when you refuse to take responsibility of it?”

 _What responsibility?_ “I never asked for them!”

“Does a mother cast away her unexpected child?”

“Er…” _Some do._

“They do not. Not willingly. The Hallows won’t leave… You could be so much _more,_ Potter.”

Harry frowns again, “How do you even _know_ about the Hallows?”

The corner of Loki’s lips twitch, “Their existence falls under the jurisdiction of a… colleague of mine.”

“You have colleagues?” The thought alone is terrifying; Loki with colleagues, working towards a common goal really _would_ be the end of the world.

“… More like allies, I suppose.”

“Who?”

Loki just tilts his head and smiles. Harry huffs.

“Fine.”

Loki stands, motioning for him to do the same, “Come; there is something I want to show you.”

Harry would be lying if he said his heart rate didn’t pick up nervously at the order.  The words are spoken without malice or menace, but he’s heard enough about the fallen Asgardian to know that not much of what Loki has to offer is ever good. The bloke had kidnapped him under the pretence of _shooting_ him for Merlin’s sake. Actions like that spoke of either an unhinged personality, or a person with a questionable moral compass… or more frighteningly- both. Not the most comforting of thoughts.

“How are you going to show me?” he motions at the door to hide his nervousness, “You’ve trapped me in here.”

Loki sneers at him, “Get up.”

Harry complies mostly because he has nothing better to do with himself, and misbehaving isn’t exactly the most intelligent of options right now.

And fuck it; but maybe he’s also a little curious too.

“You arm.”

He sticks out his left. The other man grips his wrist, and in the blink of an eye they’re surrounded by dense and unevenly floored forest instead of green painted walls and books.

Harry blinks in shock. That was unlike any apparition he’d ever experienced. There was no sound; no sensation of being squeezed through something impossibly small. Just, one moment they were in his room/cell and the next they weren’t.

“How did you do that?”

Loki quirks an eyebrow, “Do what?”

He glares at him for playing coy, “The teleportation.”

The other man shrugs, eyes knowing, “Your people always lacked finesse. Wands make you lazy. I was always surprised by low little imagination the _Seiðr_ had, for a people who could do almost anything they wanted.”

“Well I can’t imagine you had an unbiased sample.”

“Perhaps not, but in all the centuries I encountered those of your race- rabid murderers or not- I found that your kind had remained largely stagnant, whilst your non-magical counterparts advanced in leaps and bounds.”

He can’t exactly argue with him there; it was something he’d worked out for himself years ago, and a fact that Hermione regularly despaired on. Innovation just wasn’t a thing wizards were particularly talented at; mostly because life was already so damn convenient. What was the point of finding a more comfortably way to move from place to place when they’d already mastered instantaneous travel? Even if apparition was incredibly uncomfortably and ran the constant threat of splinching. He wondered if anyone had even _bothered_ to find a better for of instant travel. Probably not.

Loki must sense his agreeance, as he smirks.

“I’m guessing the Seiðr are your term for magic-folk, right?” He’d heard Thor use the terms once or twice in association with he and Hermione, but had never been bothered to ask him what it meant.

The Trickster nods slowly and moves forwards, weaving through the trees gracefully, “In a way. Seiðr is more an overarching term… I suppose the better descriptor would be Midgardian Seiðr, but that would imply that your are from this realm. Which your are very much not.”

Harry latches onto Loki’s phrasing desperately as he follows, “So we’re still on Earth?”

The Asgardian turns his head to regard him with his sharp eyes, “Well I wasn’t going to take you to Asgard.”

Harry decides not to point out that if that was the case, Hermione would easily be able to find him.

“We are hidden here.” Loki carries on, a smug glittering in his eyes as if to say they read his mind (which Harry wouldn’t put past him, honestly), “No eyes can find us. There is old magic in these forests, and they mask our presence like nobody’s business.”

Harry blinks at the casually spoken colloquial expression, “Does that go for the house as well?”

He sends him a look that screams _of course_.

There goes that other plan then.

“So… why are we here?” He motions to the trees out of reflex, even though Loki is facing forwards as they navigate the forest. He stops and Harry almost stumbles into him. The Tricker raises his eyebrows- unimpressed- but doesn’t mention it. He casually leans against the gnarled trunk of a mossy tree and watches him for a long moment.

“It’s a test.”

“I failed the other one.”

“No. You didn’t even _try_ the other one.”

_Fair cop._

“Then what kind of test is this one?”

Loki smirks and raises a hand. Green flames burst from his palm, its eerie light catching on the sharp panels of his face and turning his slight smirk disconcertingly sinister. A twitch of his fingers and the flames grow and surround his arm from fingertip to elbow. He straightens and steps away from the tree. The smirk grows as he rests his palm against the roughened bark. The smell of burning wood surrounds them almost immediately and Harry can hear the sound of crackling- the fizz and hiss of boiling sap- from where he stands. The white smoke burns his eyes and nose.

When the Trickster God pulls away- the flames cancelled when he closes his hand- he leaves behind a smouldering mark of a five fingered hand, burnt deep into the green wood. Harry swallows nervously. There’s a feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that he’s about to be given the secret that’s either going by very good, or very, very bad.

Loki tilts his head, his face serene and his eyes anything but.

“Tell me Potter; what’s your wandless magic like?”

* * *

“Again.”

Harry huffs in frustration. He’d been trying for a good hour and a half to mimic Loki’s demonstration, whilst the man in question idled about on the forest floor as if it were far more comfortable than it actually was. Harry at this point was convinced Loki had the act of lounging down to an art form.

So far, all he’d accomplished was the faintest flicker of blue flames (he’d chosen a different colour from Loki’s in a fit of minor rebellion) that had burnt hot enough to leave an angry blister along the fleshy part of his palm; he’d forgotten to visualise the impermeable layer or steel between his skin and the flames- like Loki had instructed him to- and it had been harder than he’d thought to douse the pathetic flames. They burnt like fiendfyre- thankfully, without the taint of dark magic; wilful and somewhat uncooperative.

The pain was slowly fading thanks to his accelerated healing, but had proved to be enough of a distraction that he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the task at hand. Not to mention he was bloody _starving_ ; he probably hadn’t eaten for at least twenty-four hours- depending on how long Loki had kept him unconscious for- and the Asgardian had refused to feed him until he’d mastered ‘this laughably simple task’.

Easy for him to say; the bastard probably had a few millennia experience on him.

His assignment was hard on multiple accounts. For one, Loki had demanded he create the same flames as he had, but had chosen to forego any actual instruction on the matter besides a basic description of the properties of the flames he’d created. For another, the magic Loki was asking for was radically different from anything he was used to conjuring; even with his better than most wandless casting abilities. And that was more thanks to his higher-than-average power levels than anything else, and still needed a focus word to channel and shape his intent.

Loki wanted something completely different- he didn’t want a focus word (had even claimed he’d _know_ if he used one); didn’t want a _spell_. The Trickster God was asking him to tap straight into his power and shape it with only his intent and willpower, instead of just relying on the focus word to do the work for him. It was a complete overhaul of everything he knew, and everything that was instinctive to him.

And Harry had only the slightest idea of where to start.

A loose piece of bark bounces off the side of his head and he flinches, twisting to glare at the reclined god, “Hey!”

“Again.” Loki reiterates, twirling three more bits of bark in the air above is right hand. He looks bored out of his mind. Harry scowls at him.

‘I’m _trying_ , but it’s fucking hard when you keep _throwing_ things at me!” As if to prove his point, Loki sends another projectile at him. It pings off his chest before he can move out of the way.

“Fucking cut it out!” He snarls, and throws the wood back at him.

The other man dismisses the small missile with a careless twitch of his fingers, not even bothering to look at Harry, “You’re not even trying.”

“I bloody well am!”

He sighs and kicks a leg up into the air, resting his calf against his bent knee, “Your kind never learnt how to manipulate the energies properly. A focus may simplify our efforts- and amplify them, to an extent- but it cripples you in the long run. I mean; did they ever even teach you how to tap into your power source in that lauded school of yours?”

“Er…”

Loki groans and turns his head to regard him balefully (like it was _Harry’s_ fault they were out here in the first place), “Foci trap you in a box; they give you the spells without first showing you a way to shape your magic on your own. Wands just impound the problem; if you use a wand before ever learning to manipulate the energies, it ends up being that much harder to learn how to do it later on.” He flicks the second piece of bark high into the air- it lights on fire on the way back down.

“It’s like being taught to only ever walk on your hands, when your feet are far more adept at doing so. If you never think to walk on your feet, then you can never run, or hold things as you walk- and it will never even occur to you that you could do so. But if you learn to walk on your feet…” he grins wickedly at Harry, and sends the last of his toys at him, “Then there are no limits to what you can do, if you set your mind to it.”

Harry stays silent for a long moment, thinking on Loki’s words. They make sense, for sure, “But I don’t even know where to start.”

Loki huffs and sits up, swivelling his body to face him, “Meditation, boy. Stop trying to get it right without bothering to look for the resources first.”

He scowls (mostly because it hadn’t even occurred to him), “And you couldn’t have said this an hour and a half ago?”

The Trickster smirks, “Oh yes of course; but it was infinitely more amusing to watch you struggle along as though you could manage it all on your own.”

Harry directs him with his most scathing of glares. Loki’s smirk only grows wider, “Was your teacher this obliging when you were learning as you’re being?”

The goodwill (so far as you could call it goodwill) disappears almost immediately, and he remains silent for long enough that Harry thinks he won’t actually say anything. He settles down nervously in the typical lotus position to try his hand at meditation like the Asgardian had suggested. There’s something in the other man’s closed off expression that leaves him spooked, and he half expects Loki to attack him as soon as he closes his eyes.

“My mother taught me.”

Harry starts at the lowly spoken words- sharp and jagged with some unnamed emotion. He opens his eyes to look at him- Loki’s eyes bore straight through him, daring him to say something pitying. His hands are clenched so tightly the tendons stand out clearly against his pale skin and his knuckles are an eerie bone white. He’d heard from Steve that Thor was mourning the recent loss of his mother, killed in the recent uprising on Asgard. He’d imagine Loki would be doing the same; recent severance of familial ties or not.

“Mine died to save me. I never even knew her.”

Loki nods slowly and Harry lets out a mental sigh of relief, feeling as though he’d just past some sort of test. He’d been tentatively pushing at the boundaries of whatever the hell this things was (because seriously- was he a prisoner, or some kind of oddly indentured student) for a while now in the hopes of working out _why_ Loki had kidnapped him in the first place. But let it never be said that the God of Lies and Trickery didn’t know how to play his cards _extremely_ close to his chest.

He frowns to himself in thought, “If you’re saying a wand is irrelevant to my power… why would one of the Hallows be a want?” And more to the point, why try and convince him to use it?

Loki shrugs nonchalantly, but his mouth quirks minutely, “Your universe’s problem, not mine.”

Harry gets the impression he’s lying about that, but he lets it lie. It’s probably better that way- for now. He closes his eyes again and tries to concentrate on searching for his magic instead.

Finding his magical core wasn’t that hard- his magic was an integral part of him, after all- and it was tied to his body; like an extra limb he knew was there but could never quite see or get a proper hold of. He could sense it better when he was feeling particularly drained- its absence heightening his awareness of its usual presence. It certainly made the job of finding it easier- though not by much given that he needed to find himself in a state of absolute serenity- something that had grown increasingly difficult over the years as the threats of the Neo-Death Eaters grew stronger and it became harder to go out in public.

His task isn’t aided by the fact that the forest is eerily devoid of wildlife- there’s not even a bird to focus on, or the sound of the breeze rustling through branches. The unnatural stillness means there is nothing to distracting from the constant deluge of his own thoughts- naturally unorganised and chaotic.

He sighs and rests his head against the roughened bark of the (probably) oak tree Loki had burnt, stretching his legs out in front of him as nest he can on the uneven ground. He finds the pulse of blood in his wrist with his other hand and zeroes in on it, cutting out everything from his thoughts but the pulse of life through his veins; the thrum of blood pushing through his limbs. He can sense the slow fall through his consciousness, until all he is exists in the deafening beat of his heart. He revels in the sensation of tranquillity for a long time- the complete blankness of everything a blissful feeling after their travels through the metaphorical looking-glass.

And slowly, like oil rising to the top of still water, he senses something _else_ \- wispy tendrils of something that in waking he would probably be able to name, but down here all he knows at that there is _he_ , and then there is something that is simultaneously a part him and _more_ than himself. He follows the tendrils downwards; they grow thicker, joining together into a great swirling maelstrom of energy. A vortex of colour and _life_ that expands and contracts with the steady, flowing rhythm of his heartbeat.

_Tha-Thum. Tha-Thum. Tha-Thum._

He basks in its radiance for what could be hours or minutes. It feels largely indifferent to his presence, and he can feel its similarity to the flames he’d managed to produce before- wild and wilful and naturally chaotic.

Curious, he casts a spectral hand into the vortex.

Power rushes through him and he’s thrown from his meditative trance abruptly. He gasps for breath as the forest comes into focus around him. His skin is _burning_ , like there’s something beneath it and he feels like sparks will erupt if he even so much as brushes against him.

Loki crouches in front of him- his eyes hold all the triumph of a man who has won something very important. He makes no move to touch him, “Breath, Potter. Let it settle.”

He breathes in deeply through his nose and tries to hold onto the shreds of that tranquil state he’d found and lets the power just flow through him. The surge of magic slowly recedes, but there’s enough of it flowing through his veins to make him feel more than giddy.

Loki smiles in approval, “Good. Now, do your homework.”

Harry giggles; it’s the first time Loki has come across as anything other than acerbic. He raises his right hand. His vision feels hyper-saturated with colour, and the old scars on the back of his hand stand out starkly.

Through the dizzy haze of endorphins and adrenaline he imagines Loki’s task- structuring the impermeable layer carefully- and he can feel the magic obey his orders, forming a solid barrier just millimetres above his skin. He flexes his fingers experimentally and the barrier cracks and crumbles away. He frowns, but the endorphins ensure he doesn’t feel disheartened. He tries again- this time picturing it as a heat and flame resistant, tar-like substance that won’t be compromised by the natural movement of his fingers. This time, when he moves his hand, the layer does nothing but stretch and contract- though his skin feels slightly greasy when he rubs his thumb and forefinger together.

Content with his handiwork, he picture small blue flames erupting from his fingertips. As soon as he claims his intent, his magic complies and gentle flames come to life. He marvels at the complete lack of heat reaching his skin, and has to prove to himself that the heat is there by passing his other hand across the fire.

Feeling slightly smug, he commands the flames to spread and coat his hand, coaxing the magic to join it.

He looks up at Loki, the buzz of success thrumming through his veins as strong as the magic he’d summoned. Loki smiles in encouragement- it feels wrong on the Trickster’s face and wordlessly hands him a thick piece of wood. He takes it with his burning hand and the wood immediately starts to smoke and smoulder as new flames- a natural orange- join those one his hand.

“Now cancel the flames, without letting go of the stick.”

He focusses on the fire, calling for it to end. It’s a struggle to get them to obey this time, the flames just as wilful as those he’d summoned the last time, and he has to concentrate hard on negating them without destroying the heat resistant layer on his skin. He manages it eventually and the fire dies out with a disgruntled _fwop_. The wood still burns, he notices, and the yellow flames aren’t cancelled out by his intent, but he can’t feel the intense heat beyond a slight warming on his skin.

He grins at Loki, self-satisfied at his achievement. It’s probably the most precise bit of wandless magic he’s ever done; certainly for an attempt without a specific spell in mind. Harry drops the still burning piece of wood, before thinking better of it and trying to put it out with a summoning of water; which fails. He can feel the magic withdrawing; the receding energy drawing tight on his skin like a bad sunburn. He stamps on it awkwardly with his foot instead as he tries to hide his growing embarrassment.

(When he thinks again of the heat-resistant layer on his hand, he notices that it feels like it’s still there; a greasy and slightly tacky sensation that sticks to his skin for several hours)

“Can we eat now?”

The Asgardian rolls his eyes and stands up, “Yes, we can go now.” Harry stands as well, wincing slightly at the numbness that’s spread through his arse. He wonders how long they’d been there for.  It’s hard to tell in his meditative state, but the forest feels considerably dimmer, as if it were late afternoon.

Loki offers him his arm and Harry clasps it in the way he’d noticed Thor preferred to greet people by. A shadow of something indescribable passes across Loki’s face, but by then he’s distracted by the fact that the forest has been replaced by his room/inordinately luxuriant prison cell. He sighs inwardly as his takes it in- the same as before- though he can see that it’s now dark outside, which puts them in at least a different time-zone from the eerily empty forest. Mercy of mercies, there is food waiting for him on the table. He tries hard not to think of how it got there and makes a point not to ask- he’s half afraid further questioning will destroy the hospitable mood Loki’s apparently now in.

He lets go of the other man’s arm and moves over to the food eagerly. His stomach- now that it’s been presented with the possibility of a meal, is threatening to eat its way out of his torso if he doesn’t do something about it _right bloody now_.

Loki remains where he is, Harry notices when he sits before the spread of stew, bread, butter and some kind of sliced meat (it smells _glorious_ ). He’s watching him, eyes assessing and Harry’s not entirely sure if he wants to know what he finds; he’d not exactly been subtle about his contempt for him so far, after all. Then the moment breaks and Loki sends him another one of those unsettling smiles, ‘Good job today.”

He nods slowly, feeling mildly terrified at the encouragement. The smile turns into a smirk, which oddly enough makes him feel far more comfortably than the ‘friendly’ smile, “Enjoy your meal.”

He turns and leaves; the door just as immaterial to his presence as it had been the last time. Harry scowls as it, feeling petty- but only for a moment. Inevitably his eyes stray back to his food and his mouth resumes its watering.

“Arse.” He comments to no one in particular. The ceiling creaks in amusement.

It could be worse, he supposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've taken a hell of a lot of liberties here with Loki's and Harry's magic. It's one of those tricky things to handle- I'm following the MCU here, so there's not really that much to go on in terms of Loki's powers, though I know they are extensive in the comics. As for wandless magic in the HP verse... well it's coverage is pretty sparse too, so I've twisted what I do know to fit in with this universe and vice-versa. Hopefully it hasn't come across as too jarring :)  
> Thanks to those who reviewed or left kudos! I'll be back in a fortnight :)


	3. Praying to a Smiling God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THOR 2 BELOW! BEWARE THE SPOILERY SPOILERS!**

 

The aftermath of The Incident had not been pretty.

In the minutes immediately after Harry and Loki had disappeared without a trace (quite literally- there wasn't even a speck of the wizard's blood left on the shitty commercial carpet for them to find), Hermione had been close to hysterics, scrambling over to the spot where Harry's twitching body had fallen and kneeling on the ground. A constant flow of 'nonononon _noNO_ ' fell from her lips. Steve and Tony had just stood there dumbly, staring in shock at the witch as her frantic words grew more desperate by the second, her diagnostic spells giving her nothing of use.

It didn't take long for her voice to turn tearful, her breath hitching, sounds coming out in wretched gasps. Something inside of Tony snapped at the sight of it. It reminded him far too much of the mess she'd been in that first day on the Helicarrier, screaming and bleeding and crying for men who couldn't come for her. It was almost physically painful to see her like this, when he was so used to her standing tall and proud and dignified and  _sad_.

He's moving forward before he can even fully register what he's doing, his arm reaching out to rest of her good shoulder in some weak display of the comfort he wished he could give her.

Hermione physically flinches away from his hand, the litany of words cutting off abruptly. She hunches further into herself and he tries not to take it personally (even though it's all his fault  _fuck_  how was ever going to explain this?). He doesn't remove his hand. After a long moment, the trembling stops and she very deliberately puts her wand back into the space in her sling.

"Who was that?" She asks slowly, each word spoken perfectly, the sounds drawn out deliberately. The murderous intent in her voice is as clear as day.

"Loki." He breathes. His voice sounds as if it was coming from far away.

She looks up sharply; her eyes hold a savage and wild light that makes him want to turn and run away, but he braves the rage and holds his ground.

"The Asgardian."

Tony can't tear his eyes away from hers; can't even bring himself to answer.

"Yes." Steve rumbles behind them. Hermione's gaze doesn't so much as flicker in his direction.

"I was under the impression Loki was dead."

Tony's throat swallows convulsively and something in Hermione's expression hardens and closes off.

_She knows._

The thought rises; as bright as true as anything he'd even known, and in that moment he can't even bring himself to be mad at her for reading his mind again.

_His fault. It was all his fault._

"I- guess he's not as dead as we were led to believe."

This time she turns to Steve. It feels like a dismissal.

"How," she asks slowly as she stands, jerking her should away from Tony's hand as though it were diseased, "Did he get into SHIELD? Better yet-" and now she turns to face an impressively blank-faced Maria Hill, "-How did he find out about us? I was informed that our existence was of a strictly need-to-know basis."

She is, Tony thinks in an oddly detached sort of way, remarkably unaffected by the fact that her closest friend was missing, with two fatal bullet wounds to his chest, now that her initial hysterics are out of the way.

"SHIELD has protocols in place for the event of a hostile infiltration by a magic user." Hill replies in an impressive display of stoicism, though her face has a distinctive pallor to it that gives away her shock nonetheless.

"And yet, Harry has been stolen, for right under your nose. By a documented madman impersonating one of your agents, no less."

Hill says nothing. The muscles around her mouth twitch ominously.

Steve makes a distressed sound and moves towards the witch, a large hand rising to rest right where Tony's had been.

"Hermione," he starts quietly, fingers squeezing softly at her fabric-covered shoulder, "Shot's like that… they're-"

"-No." She cuts him off, "He's not dead."

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his big, stupid blue eyes unnaturally shiny and full to the brim with pity and angst. Or maybe it was sympathy, "I just think that-"

"-No." She repeats firmly. She steps away from the super-soldier and his hand falls to his side like and dead and useless thing, "He is  _not dead_. He can't  _die_."

And she delivers that line with such honest, sober conviction that Tony is fully inclined to believe her; until he remembers the ringing in his ears and way Harry's blood had spattered across the wall.

"Queenie, you don't just walk away from wounds like that." The gaze she levels him with is flat and unforgiving and so saturated with contempt that he has to restrain himself from flinching. It hurts in more ways than he'd like to analyse that she looks at him like so; like he'd stolen something precious of hers and reduced it to dust in front of her.

"You don't understand." She replies, brown eyes sliding over him finally to rest on each face in the room, "Harry  _can't die._  At all. It wasn't just accidental magic that saved him when he fell."

_Oh. Oh shit._

He suddenly remembers her debriefing, what feels like months ago now, when she'd talked about how Harry had changed; how something they'd found during their war had frozen him in time. Whatever she'd been talking about then- whatever they'd found- it had done more than just halt his aging. He'd suspected it- had voiced it even- but it was one thing to suspect, another to have it confirmed. His mind casts back to the conversation he'd had with Bruce and Steve, and Loki's warning of an object that reeked of death. It was obvious now that the two were connected- were probably the same thing (who was he kidding? It had  _always_  been obvious, he'd just wanted it to  _not_  be so, and it should have been  _so fucking obvious_  that Loki had been interested in them-  _in Harry_ \- and maybe, if he'd just  _fucking said something_ , they'd have been more careful and Harry wouldn't have been kidnapped and Hermione  _wouldn't hate him-_ ). He wonders what it was Harry had paid in exchange for the object.

A shiver runs down his spine.

"So I'm telling you- Harry is alive, and he's just been stolen by the  _alien_  who  _quite recently_  tried to subjugate the world to his will." Her voice almost-  _almost-_ grows hysterical then; the fury in her manner leaking through the calm mask before she gains control of herself again.

"I promise you," Hill says, deadly serious but obviously in placation mode, "SHIELD will do all it can to find your partner."

Hermione contemplates the woman coolly; her lawyer-mode firmly back in place, "I would very much like to believe that, Deputy Director, but SHIELD has just proven itself woefully inadequate at detecting Loki's presence  _within their own headquarters_. I fail to see how anyone in your organisation- beyond those in this room- could  _possibly_  hope to find him." Tony watches in an odd sort of muted horror, as hostile, agitated energy gathers around her again, her hair frizzing and crackling around her weakening poker face.

"In the wrong hands, Harry could be potentially devastating, and he's just been  _kidnapped_  by an Asgardian madman and a magic-user to boot. I'd like to think you can understand my vexation."

A snort from behind him, sharp and derisive, "One day, Granger.  _One day,_  and you've already managed to land us in a diplomatic nightmare.  _Fucking hell_ , but you lot don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Say another word Malfoy, and I will  _personally_  see to it that you  _never_ see your wand again."

The mouthy blonde wisely closes his mouth. Tony looks on unhappily.

In the strained silence that follows, Hermione's eyes slide up to a corner of the room, "Do you have that on film?"

If Tony didn't feel like he's been punched in the gut multiple times, he probably would have snorted. Of course it's recorded. And backed up on a million different servers around the globe, if they were anything like SI.

Hill nods tightly.

"Good. Can you have it sent to Jarvis, please? I think we need to show the footage to Thor." She turns to the rest of them, "And I think it's time for us to leave. No, Agent Hill-" she says sharply, before the other woman can interject, "I am not remaining in this facility any longer than I have to. And I feel it would be prudent for Malfoy to return with us."

Tony twitches. She hadn't exactly asked if they were going to be okay with that, "Queenie, I don't think that's the best idea."

She turns on him; her face is cold, expressionless in a way that lets him know exactly how much of a say he now has in the proceedings, "Harry was targeted- most likely because of the three of us, he was the most vulnerable. But I don't think it will take long for Loki to work out that Harry won't succumb to any of his… persuasion techniques. If he comes for the rest of us, I'd rather we were prepared, and it is far harder to defend ourselves when separated. Not only that, but the chances are high that I will need his help in locating Harry.

"Speaking of which-" she turns back to Hill, dismissing him, "I think it would be prudent to renegotiate the terms of Malfoy's release. If Loki returns, out best line of defence is being at full capability- I'd like to have his wand returned, under certain restrictions."

He doesn't pay much attention after that, too lost in the growing whirlwind of his thoughts. Her frostiness after receiving for so long those flirtatious smirks and coquettish banter leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He'd found a real connection in Hermione, achingly close to the one he still shares with Pepper. And call him a sucker for punishment, but he'd wanted more of it. The possibility of that are ruined, now. There's no chance Hermione won't take this as some kind betrayal. He should have said something- should have let them know right at the start of it all that Loki was alive and on Earth. Should have told them of Loki's interest in the newcomers, but he  _hadn't_  and now Hermione wouldn't even  _look_  at him because she  _knew_ ; she  _knew_  he knew about Loki and had never even bothered to open his mouth.

 _God_ , but he was so  _fucked_.

Part of him wonders if Loki had known this would happen. If so, he'd played right into the bastard's hands.

* * *

Thor didn't believe them, at first. Loki had died  _in his arms,_ why did they have to slight his brother's final act of heroism with such slander?

They show him the security footage. He leaves the tower for several hours.

His hands shake as he picks up Mjolnir; no one speaks of it.

* * *

Beyond coordinating their efforts in searching for Harry, not once does Hermione speak to him in the next three days.

Not that Tony can bring himself to say anything to her; further than offering her the use of one of the many labs in the tower, he's loathe to bring himself under her scathing scrutiny, and not a small bit terrified of her telling everyone else about his 'acquaintance' with Loki. Bruce- bless his green, anger-issue-ridden soul- takes it upon himself to liaison between Hermione's group (which generally consists of just her and occasionally Malfoy, and sometimes Natasha, whom Tony suspects is only there to ensure Hermione doesn't work herself to death) and himself and Tony when it becomes clear that neither are speaking to each other. He's not-so-secretly grateful for the not-so-subtle interference, because her cold silence leaves him feeling as though there were a gaping pit festering deep inside his gut.

An irrational part of him fears that this is how it's going to be between them forever; the thought scares him far more than he'll ever admit.

Meals are a strained affair. Even when Hermione doesn't turn up (which is admittedly, most of the time), conversations are strained, troubled and in Thor's case, bordering on the morose. Hermione speaks only when prompted; Malfoy is a trenchant prick at the best of times; and their dour moods have managed to bring even Clint down. Natasha sends him pointed and vaguely terrifying looks at every meal Hermione actually managed to turn up to, looking like hell with her unkempt hair, sallow, greasy skin and dark circles beneath her eyes.

In complete contrast, her companion seems almost cheery- despite his acidic tongue. He keeps mostly to himself (thankfully) when not forced to work with Queenie, though, according to Bruce (who sees far more of the 'outside world' that Tony does), he's been getting on quite well with Clint and Natasha. Something to do with 'a platonic appreciation for all things espionage and subterfuge'. Typical.

The usually verbose Queenie only responds in monosyllabic words now; terse responses to the same cautious questions Steve, Bruce and Natasha ask:

' _How's your day been?'_

' _Fine.'_

' _It's good to see you out of the lab, Hermione.'_

' _Mm, I guess.'_

' _Have you made any progress today?'_

_A tight smile, and a quick extraction._

From what Tony's gathered, Hermione's made about as much progress as he as in the Harry department; absolutely fuck-all. Wherever Loki is, he's hidden himself perfectly, and so far, none of the various instruments SI and SHIELD have around the world have picked up so much as a peep of energy. Fucking  _magic._

And they can't even call up for help- his money would have been Xavier's lot. He'd heard for decades now about a machine that was able to pinpoint the location of any mutant in the world, but none of the magic users fell under the mutant category, so he didn't exactly have high hope there- and besides that, he wasn't exactly keen on broadcasting the magic user's appearance any further than those in the tower.

In his honest opinion, their best bet was to simply wait it out; Loki may be a millennia old, but he was still a man, and sooner or later he was going to slip up. His track record almost guaranteed it (he told himself). In the meantime, Tony made sure his network of satellites were calibrated to pick up any hint of Loki's energy signature- and the magic users, for good measure- and he has  _Jarvis_  running facial recognition software through all of the camera footage he can get his electronic hands on.

Even Thor has no idea where Loki could have hidden himself (though he'd assured them he wasn't on Asgard) and Heimdall had apparently been unable to spot him either. There wasn't really anything else he could do. In the ample amounts of spare time he had left over he busied himself with designs for a magic resistant suit (and resolutely  _not_  thinking about Hermione). He couldn't forget the way Harry's accident on the Helicarrier had fried all of the electronics in the room. It was… well, slow going, given he couldn't bring himself to ask help from Hermione, and Malfoy had been restricted to only being able to use his wand in Queenie's presence, but he putters along determinedly. Part of him is guilty, for not running himself into the ground like Hermione is clearly doing, but he knows there's not really that much more he can do.

It all comes to a head on day five.

Tony's been half-heartedly working on the schematics for a protection unit over his arc-reactor for the past four hours (he  _thinks_ ); thought if he's honest with himself, most of his efforts have been spend second guessing his actions of the past month- just like he's been doing for the past four fucking days, and fervently praying to a Smiling God that they won't end up finding Harry's body discarded in a ditch somewhere, because Hermione really would kill him then. And yeah, okay, they guy supposedly couldn't die, but surely that ability could be taken away, and if there was a way, he was sure Loki would find it. He was wily like that.

He'd skipped out on dinner the night previous in the hopes of avoiding Hermione and her sombre, judgey eyes and Natasha's pointed looks, but really only succeeded in thinking about the witch to the point of obsession. Even so, he fully intends to do the same again tonight; it wasn't as if it was an uncharacteristic behavioural trait of his.

Bruce, as it turns out, has some objections to this decision.

"Tony," the scientist pleads- as much as Bruce can plead, at any rate, the serene bastard, "You can't hide from Hermione forever."

He freezes, halfway through expanding the circuitry designs around the reactor, and tries to pass if off as pausing to inspect the clean, electronic lines. He'd forgotten how much the man liked to hit the heart of the problem.

"I was working."

Not quite a lie, but pretty close to one.

Bruce huffs and moves so Tony can't pretend to not be paying attention to him, "No, you weren't. I asked  _Jarvis_ ; you spend the majority of the night staring aimlessly at the walls."

" _Traitor._ " He glares at the ceiling. Bruce rolls his eyes.

"Look Tony, I don't know what's happened between you and Hermione, but I'm starting to worry that it'll start screwing with the relations between us and them. Because if push comes to shove and we're forced to take sides, you know we're going to pick yours."

He sighs, sitting back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. His hands fight the urge to fiddle guiltily with the hem of his shirt.

"I fucked up Bruce… and I don't think it's a fixer."

A rustle and the sound of metal clinking about as his friend sits on a workbench, "You're being stupid."

Tony looks up sharply, glaring, "Am not."

"Are so." He gives him an exasperated smile, "She wouldn't still be here if it were irreparable. Hermione's… wilful. If you did something irredeemable in her eyes, I can guarantee that she would be long gone."

"Irredeemable? Have you  _seen_  the way she looks at me now?"

"I have, actually. It's…" he swallows, the small smile fading, "I'm not going to lie; she looks betrayed. I don't know what you did- or what you said, but it's made her pretty angry. But I do think that it's something you can fix. And yeah, okay; she could actually turn you into a newt, but the good news is; I'm pretty sure she'd turn you back."

He stares at Bruce, nonplussed, "You're not really selling your argument here Bruce." The scientist rolls his eyes.

"Just apologise Tony! And you'd better do it soon, before Natasha forces you to. She's kind of protective of Hermione."

The nonplussed look morphs into one of consternation. Bruce grimaces in vexation, "It's not the end of the world, Tony."

He  _does not_  pout, "Says you."

"Do I need to get Natasha? Is that what I'm going to have to do?"

He flinches at the threat, "Nooo." God knows what Nat would do to him. Bruce nods in satisfaction, that stupid, subtle smile on his face that says he's immensely amused by Tony's infantile behaviour.

"Good. Because I have it on excellent authority that she's alone in her lab right now; if you didn't want an audience."

He stares at the man with narrowed eyes, "You're in league with Nat, aren't you."

The scientist blinks at him guilelessly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a filthy liar. I don't know why you're so good a poker."

He shrugs, "It's a skill. Now  _git_ , before I get the broom out."

He fights the small smiles threatening to spread across his face as he stands and moves away, "You'd have to find one first."

"Dum-E would help; I'm his favourite."

Tony snorts, "Only 'cause you let him near you with that bloody fire extinguisher."

"Get out, Tony."

"Yes Mom."

The doors close silently behind him, and the anxiety that had been alleviated by Bruce's advice suddenly returns full force. He sighs heavily into the silence of the empty corridor and rests his head on the concrete wall.

" _Jarvis,_ is Hermione in her lab?"

"Yes sir, Miss Granger has not emerged from her lab since 0637 hours."

 _Huh_. Not nearly as bad as him on one of his science benders, for sure. Then again, he didn't have a superspy on his back to ensure he was fed and watered. Or at least, not anymore.

Hermione's lab is two floors below his, in the lower realms of the Avengers (and approved companions) only access areas- one of the many labs he'd had built into the floors. They were technically separate from SI's R and D levels, with their own secure connection to  _Jarvis_ ' mainframe and spending budgets (that more or less came straight out of his own pocket). Most of the labs and rooms were empty and waiting to be filled, which was advantageous when looking for a spot to fit Queenie and her research that could effectively buffer any of the potentially disastrous effects that her magic could have on the surrounding expensive and incredibly sensitive tech. The last thing they needed was an 'explosion' frying their electronics.

He makes his way down to her lab more-or-less on autopilot. The apprehension churning viciously in his gut is enough to distract him from the journey and he finds himself standing outside the shatter-proof doors before he can even register the trip. The light on the panel beside the doors shows that she hasn't enforced level one lock-out mode to prevent distractions. He'd take it as a good sign, usually, but right now there are a million places he'd rather be. He stares at the interface module determinedly- not quite able to bring himself to look through the doors. He hasn't seen Hermione for almost 48 hours, and it feels almost like forever.

" _Doctor Banner has requested I convey the message; 'If you don't open that door in the next ten seconds Tony, I'm sending Natasha down._ '"  _Jarvis_  interrupts his thoughts. Disconcertingly, the intimation seems even more effective when delivered in the AI's dry, unassuming voice. He scowls; Bruce isn't exactly known to fail to follow through with his threats.

"Fine." He mutters mulishly, feeling for all the world like he should not be here.  _But only because Natasha terrifies me._  To be fair though, so did Queenie; seriously,  _magic_. How was he supposed to compete against someone (without his armour) who regularly flipped the bird at the laws of physics; with whom he sort of/kind of/definitely held a flame for?

Totally not fair.

He presses his thumb against the biometric scanner on the interface and the doors slide open with a faint  _beep_. The soft notes of classical music reach his ears immediately as his eyes zero in on the curly-haired woman. She works with her back turned to the door, poring over a large sheet of paper spread across a worktop. Her wild hair is pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.

"I know it's dinner time Nat, but can't it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something here." She says irritably, speaking only just loud enough to bypass the music playing, not bothering to turn around. She sounds tired.

He swallows nervously. The cocky mask he wears so often comes up sluggishly.

"Guess I'm not the only one caught trying to skive off."

The witch stiffens and Tony braces himself for the inevitable explosion.

"Tony."

"Hermione."

"What are you doing here?" She straightens up but doesn't turn around. He's almost grateful.

"I'm sorry."

She spins around, eyes sparking dangerously, "Sorry. You're  _sorry._ " She echoes tightly, "Harry is  _missing_ ; kidnapped by a man everyone thought was dead- everyone except for you, that is- and that's all you have to say?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I  _trusted you!_ " She cries, arm flinging something at him. He dodges on instinct and a pen bounces ineffectually to the floor, "Out of all the people here, I trusted you the  _most_."

"I didn't-"

"-And then I find out that you  _slept_  with him!"

"I didn't know at the fucking time! Jesus Christ Hermione, he was six foot one with a rack and a-" She cuts him off there, and this time he  _is_  grateful.

"-And you never said  _a single thing_  afterwards.  _Nothing._  Thor- he thought his little brother was  _dead_ \- had died in his arms almost straight after the death of his own bloody mother!" Another pen is thrown his way and he doesn't try to dodge. She moves closer, her pale skin turning a splotchy red in her anger.

Resolutely, he stands his ground.

"Your team- they're  _clueless_. They've  _no idea_  you let a mass murderer and a madman into their home- their  _sanctuary!_  No clue that perhaps they should be on guard for the man who very nearly succeeded in taking over your world! You and your  _blood pride_ , Tony Stark!"

A stapler flies at him this time and he moves out of the path of its trajectory quickly. Staples explode from it violently as it smashes into the durable glass of a computer screen. She moves forward another step.

"You never said a  _single thing,_ Tony Stark. Never even bothered to give them a heads up about Loki's return to Earth, let alone his vested interest in Harry and I! You  _knew_ , and you never said  _anything_  and now-" her voice hitches, tears making her voice weedy and unsteady, "-Any now Harry's gone  _and I can't find him._ "

He takes a step forward, throat closing up uncomfortably.

"We never stood a fucking chance." And then she smiles at him, and it's a sharp and bitter thing, angry in a way that no woman's smile should be. Her eyes are pink and irritated as she obviously fights the tears threatening to fall.

"I never meant for any of this to happen." He murmurs softly. His stomach feels as though it will turn itself inside out at any moment.

"Oh screw you, Tony. Nobody ever means for shit like this to happen." She sobs at him and then they're crashing into each other, before he can register his limbs moving, wrapping around each other like two missing pieces of a puzzle.

"I thought we were finally safe." He buries his nose in her hair at the broken words, a hand rises to cradle her head. She sniffles indelicately at the contact.

"I'm sorry," He breathes, holding her tightly, "If I- if I'd known, I would have made the alert weeks ago."

"I know Tony. I just want him back. I-"  _want to go home_. He remembers the sentiment. His fingers tighten imperceptibly.

"I know."

She pulls back, watery eyes locking on his. She's a mess; blotchy skin; lips red-raw from biting; eyes an angry, inflamed pink. He can't bring himself to care though, as he cradles a tear-stained cheek with callused fingers. Her jaw clenches beneath his palm, but she doesn't pull away.  _Go on_ , muddy brown eyes dare him,  _do it_. He bites the inside of his lip as he debates it; it felt like poor form to kiss her when she was upset like this.

As if in challenge, her chin juts upwards.

Even so, he hesitates, unsure for long enough that Hermione rolls her eyes, snarls a quiet, "For Chrissakes," and grabs him by the nape of the neck, crashing his lips down on hers shamelessly.

For a long moment his brain shorts out as her roughened, dry lips press against his; surprised more than anything. Fingers curl into his hair and  _tug_  and the witch presses closers to him and he suddenly remembers that he's supposed to be doing something. Tentatively he moves his lips against hers and she huffs through her nose, tugging on his hair again in reprimand. His fingers dig into the soft flesh along her jawline and this time she breathes in sharply, lips parting; the passive act in stark contrast to the way she surges into him. She kisses like it's a test- the determination to succeed written in each of her movements and he rise to the challenge readily. He never really was one to back down from a challenge.

And somewhere in the crimson shift of lips on tongues; of teeth and flesh and bones; words finally begin to fail him; because it may not be earth-shattering, or perfect or any of those other things Romantics like to describe the act as, but it's still pretty bloody fantastic. Instinct kicks in. His body temperature rises in response to Hermione's proximity and beneath his fevered hands she's softened skin and textured hair and the push and pull of air through lungs and veins and arteries. Sliding across his skin are fingers and nails and little noises from the back of her throat that urge him to press into her further, to bite hard at the supple skin of her neck and  _own_ her-

-He pulls back- mildly disturbed by the thought and suddenly realises that he's practically crowded her up onto her workbench, cradled tightly between her legs. He swallows and licks at lips that taste like salt. His hands slide down to rest on her clavicles, thumbs resting side by side upon her voice box. His index fingers underline her chin. Her skin feels blazingly hot beneath his own.

He could kill her like this, the objective part of his brain offers unhelpfully. Squeeze his hands until the writhing stops and the shine of her eyes goes dull.

If she realises it, she makes no effort to move. A hand rises- rests on his cheek as her canny, defiant eyes scan his face. She licks her lips unconsciously.

"What?"

He smiles; acts like the thought had never crossed his mind, "Nothing." He lies, knowing that he could never do something like it. Even if they hated each other; even if they were arch enemies. To steal a mind as bright as hers would be a crime worse than murder. But it's humbling, how much she trusts him- even after finding out about Loki. He remembers the wounded creature of their first meeting; feral and ready to bite at any moment, with a crackling wit and intelligence that entranced him before he'd even had a chance to get her name.

The smallest of smirks grace her lips, "Well doesn't that just stroke a girl's ego, Mister Stark." She murmurs, rising on her feet to brush her smile against his own.

He laughs though his nose and rests his forehead on hers, rubbing at the skin of her neck lightly. She smells like rain on hot, dry earth and ozone and spice.

"I'm still mad at you."

"Okay."

"If it happens again, I'll turn you into a newt; I know how to do that, you know."

"Okay."

"And…" She looks away guiltily, "I'm sorry for reading your mind. I'm usually far more scrupulous when it comes to legilimency. It wasn't right and I shouldn't have done it."

He nods dumbly; he hadn't expected her to even bother to apologise for that. In a way he's almost grateful that she had done it, because it saved him the embarrassment of having to explain it himself. And yeah, okay, she'd read his mind, but it wasn't like he hadn't pushed (and overstepped) the privacy boundary on numerous occasions with his hacking.

"If it's any consolation, I only skimmed the surface of your psyche, where the scene was already at the forefront."

"Unlike the first time?"

She smiles wryly, "I won't apologise for that. It was a matter of survival; I needed to know if you were someone I could trust."

He bites the inside of his cheek nervously, "And do you? Still?"

The smile turns melancholic, "Do you think I'd be here if I didn't?" he shakes his head mutely, "I had a lot of time to think about what you did- I knew you hadn't done it maliciously, but I… I wanted someone to blame, and you were so guilty you were almost asking to be a scapegoat."

He looks away, shamefaced and she sighs heavily, patting his cheek, "I know it wasn't really your fault, Tony. SHIELD doesn't know enough about us or our kind to safeguard themselves from an infiltration- let alone a full blown attack- and we should have been more diligent in light of that. Even so, Loki would have gotten his hands on one of us at some point."

"We could have been more prepared- more aware. I shouldn't have kept the knowledge to myself."

She nods slowly, "Yeah, you shouldn't have. But it's okay." she shrugs, face sad, "What's done is done. The best thing for us to do now is to focus on finding Harry." Her hand slides back to lightly pull at his hair, mischief lighting up her eyes as she tilts her head, "But I think… in the meantime, you should probably kiss me again."

He stares at her mouth, "What about finding Harry?"

Hermione shrugs again, "I've got a monitoring spell active. Kind of like what  _Jarvis_  is doing on your end. If he emerges from wherever Loki's got them hiding, I'll know." She moves in, chapped lips stopping an inch away from his, "Now I think I asked you to kiss me, Tin Man."

"Okay."

He could do that for her, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums*
> 
> Soo... hadn't originally planned to put the kiss in yet... but I felt like it fit, I guess. What do you guys think? Too soon? Too sudden?
> 
> Also, a question:
> 
> Is Tony a fan of Welcome to Nightvale?
> 
> Or is he StrexCorp?
> 
> *dun dun DUNN*


	4. Save It For Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are interested, the forest that Loki's taken to tutoring Harry in is the Aokigahara Forest, Japan.
> 
> To those are unaware of its infamy; it's also known as the Suicide Forest, because of the sheer number of people who go there purely to kill themselves. The concept is pretty creepy and definitely tragic, but there have been some observances of the area having high levels of electromagnetic energy/anomalies. It's a place of interest to Ancient Alien theorists (S03E10: for the record, I'm not one, but I do enjoy watching the occasional episode when I feel like tearing something to pieces with logic and sanity) because it sits at the foot of Mt Fuji, which is apparently known to be a World Navel/Axis Mundi (a place where the Earth meets the Sky; the Heaven's Gate), and is (and I quote) a 'dimensional time-space portal'.
> 
> Claptrap, in my opinion, however I have latched onto the idea of Aokigahara being a powerful place, and have shamelessly warped this to my own ends. The forest- as previously stated by Loki- sits in an area where old magic lies in such levels as to completely mask their presence. Of course, this is just because of the dispersal of Earth magic (think ley lines here people) and has nothing to do with it being a Heaven's Gate, but that is what the Ancient Alien theorists are picking up on; at least in the MCU.
> 
> Thank-you to those who reviewed! You brighten up my world!

 

 

Loki doesn't return until the next morning, not long after Harry wakes and motivates himself enough to roll out of his ridiculously comfortable bed (and seriously,  _why_  on Earth was it that soft? He was being held  _captive_  [more or less]. Captives were  _not_  supposed to have rooms that were furnished like libraries and be fed regularly or be given stupidly nice beds to sleep in. That wasn't how the kidnapping rules  _went_ ). He throws an apple at him almost as soon as he's through the door and Harry fumbles to catch it for the briefest of moments. He coughs to hide him embarrassment at his sloppy reflexes; it had been  _far_  too long since he'd tested his seeker skills.

"Thanks."

Once, he could have caught that with his eyes closed.

Loki nods, "We're going."

He stiffens, frowning slightly, "Where?"

"Same place as before." He motions impatiently, "Come on Potter."

Harry glances down at his rumpled clothes and grimaces, "Er… you mind if I use the bathroom first?" He  _had_  just gotten out of bed, and it wasn't as if he'd been able to change clothes the night before.

Loki stares at him blankly; blinking slowly before his face clears and he nods tautly. "Don't keep me waiting." He drawls imperiously and leans against the cleared table. Harry sends the Asgardian a grateful smile and flees to the bathroom, which right now he couldn't be more grateful to have. Something tells him it had probably been an afterthought on Loki's part- though he'd failed to think of getting him additional clothes- but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth;  _especially_ when it looked far more serpentine than equine.

He's in and out of the room as quickly as he can be- using the toilet and washing his hands and face with water that's icy cold and sends violent shivers down his spine. His shirt's not an entirely lost cause when he checks it with a tentative sniff, but he'll probably want to change by the end of the day. If he'd any real skill with wandless magic, he'd just clean it himself, but he wasn't exactly keen on trying to clean his only shirt with a burgeoning talent he'd so far only used to burn things.

He walks out cautiously; Loki hasn't moved from his spot, but he straightens when the door opens.

"Are you ready now?"

Harry lingers in the doorway, indecisive. There's a question that's been plaguing him since last night that he knows Hermione would kill him for not asking. Loki frowns at the evident hesitation on his face, "What is it?"

He looks away feeling understandably nervous. Loki and his mercurial moods weren't really something he wanted to push, but he  _had_ to ask.

"Spit it out." Irritation laces his voice and Harry grits his teeth in determination.

"Could- would you… your magic-"

"- My magic  _what_ , Potter?"

_Just go with it._

"Could you return us? To our universe, I mean." The Trickster's eyes remain unreadable for a long minute. Harry fights an unsure flush.

"Perhaps. Retrieving the Veil is not out of my reach, by any means." He tilts his head, thin lips pressed into a serious line, "The question is; do you want me to?"

"Of course!"

He sneers, "I am the  _God_  of lies and trickery, boy. You would need a millennia's practice before you could even  _think_  of feeling me falsehoods."

He blanches at the implications behind his words, "Our universe is our  _home_! Why would we not want to go back?"

Loki stares at him some more, eyes wide and intense, "And what an  _inviting_  world it sounds like; bigots, xenophobes, persecution, psychotic followers and a lifetime spent in hiding. You do yourself no service with your self-inflicted lies."

He can  _feel_  the half-hearted grimace growing on his face. The truth was it felt as though he'd lived more in the past month than he had the last decade and a half.

"I can't just  _abandon_  my people! They-"

"-They what? Need your help?" Loki steps closer, eyes flashing dangerously, "Funny you think so highly of yourself, when you spent the last- what, five years- hiding and pretending they didn't exist. They're no more your people than the Midgardians and the Asgardians are mine."

Harry eyeballs the other man, wide-eyed. He has the feeling Loki's just revealed something very important and intensely personal to him, and he's no idea if the slip was intentional or not. He licks at uncomfortably dry lips.

"How do you even know about that?" Misdirection is probably the best course of action right now, before the fallen god lashes out at him in a fit of spite.

"You think I just pretended your arrivals were as ordinary as any other arrival on Midgard?" He laughs; a cold and bitter thing, "I've been watching you Potter; you and your… entourage, ever since you tried your hand at skydiving without a parachute. And I've been in this game a long,  _long_  time. You couldn't detect me or hide from me; even if you tried for a hundred years."

Harry feels like that's a bit of an overly arrogant assumption, but is determined to say nothing about it. In the lull of conversation/argument, Loki stretches out his arm, the discussion now apparently closed. He watches the outstretched fingers savagely as he collects his scattered, affronted thoughts.

Truth be told, it felt oddly freeing to be told he owed his old world nothing. It felt  _good_  to think about never going back. Because Loki was right; it  _wasn't_ a nice place. Sure, he'd had his friends and family; extraordinary people whose absence left a gaping pit of despair and loneliness in his heart. But the Ministry had been corrupt for  _centuries_ ; their society was inherently xenophobic and isolationist, and positively  _backwards_  when it came to innovation and progress. It wasn't a world he'd ever want to return to; having accepted almost a decade ago that it wasn't about to change any time soon.

If he was true to himself, it had been a relief to think he could never return; he's entertained quite a few fantasies of actually living out a  _life_  here over the past few weeks. It was a fresh start; a new canvas. A world where nobody knew his name. He hadn't had a chance to experience that since he was eleven; and his childhood with the Dursley's couldn't exactly be called enriching. The thought of staying here… it  _excited_  him; possibly far more than it should.

And it hurt, to think that, because no matter how much he wished it were false; people had died for him- shit _, Ron_  had died for him; his best friend and the adoring parent of a now fatherless son. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Dumbledore and even Snape. How could he leave them to fend for themselves against the growing threat of the Death Eaters? He couldn't resist the obligation of returning; to fight the good fight, even when he knew that his friends were more than capable of fighting back; and if worst came to worst- leave. But it was a hard reality to abandon when he remembered all of those who had died in the wars. Sometimes if felt as though he'd never escape the lifeless eyes, endless rows of gravestones and rotting bones that tied him to wizarding Britain.

And it was stupid of him to think that way- conceited even- because he  _knew_ , logically, that all of those people- his friends and mentors- hadn't died for him specifically; had lost their lives in the fight for survival; for their families and their world. But it was one thing to say their deaths held no sway over his psyche, and another to actually  _mean it_. Even now; fifteen years on he struggled to come to terms with it (and, well, Ron had barely even been gone a month). Hermione called it survivor's guilt; said it was a natural thing to feel, but it didn't make him feel any better.

It was made worse by the fact that everything Loki had said so far had hit its mark head on. He narrows his eyes at the dark-haired man, still holding his arm out patiently.

"You know, for the God of Lies, you haven't really said any untruths."

Loki grins wickedly, "It is not my fault people confuse chaos with deceit. People underestimate the power of truths."

Once again Harry is struck by the absurdity of his new situation. So far, all the things he'd heard about Loki (apart from the rare tales he heard from Thor) had centred around the fact that he was evil with a large helping of crazy. And while he had the crazy aura downpat; Loki hadn't exactly done much in the way of actually threatening his safety. If at all, if he was honest. Once again he's forced to question the man's motives, because beyond holding him against his will to sneer and smirk and pick his battered psyche apart piece by agonising piece, they were pretty murky as far as supervillain motives went. Mostly, he'd come across as casually ruthless, somewhat unhinged but surprisingly insightful.

Loki waves his arm, eyebrow rising the only sign of his growing impatience. Harry gives him a weak grin and clasps his arm before he can say anything stupid. They're transported to the same forest as yesterday, with its rocky and uneven floor and tightly grouped trees.

"You're to do the same thing I asked of you yesterday." Loki declares, moving away to craft himself a chair out of the exposed roots of the closest tree, "Except this time, I wasn't you to be able to change the colours and the heat at will, and extend the flames up to you elbow without burning your clothes."

As he speaks, Harry watches his elegant hands coax the tree into shaping itself to his liking with seemingly minimal effort. He can't stop the little pang of jealousy at the skill with which the Trickster wields his magic. If he was honest with himself, it was because of these occasional displays of power that he hadn't really tried to escape yet; which was probably a stupid motivation, and Hermione was liable to kill him slowly and painfully the next time he saw her, but it kind of felt like Loki was out to  _help_  him, and he wasn't about to laugh in the face of his oddly displayed hospitality.

He looks down at the apple still in his hand as Loki sits, his face expectant. Part of him wants to eat it now, just to break his fast, but the more logical side of him (which admittedly, wasn't very big- being a wizard and all) suspects this was all he'd get until they returned, because so far Loki had given him food seemingly as an afterthought.

He decides, in the end, to save it for later and sits on the rocky ground, settling himself as he'd done the day before and searches for that well of magic and pure, unadulterated power inside of him once more.

* * *

"It's strange, don't you think?" Harry asks in between bites of his apple, which he is now immensely grateful for not eating before. He'd progressed quite well in the past few hours, he'd like to think, and had managed to produce the flames Loki had wanted in just under forty minutes (he thinks). He'd been working on his stamina since then.

"What's strange?" Loki's chair of roots had at some point morphed into a bench, which he was once again lounging across. It seemed to be his default setting when he wasn't picking Harry apart and snarking his way thought all of their 'conversations'.

"The Veil; the way it deposits people in random places. I don't get it. Should you turn up in the same place you left?" It's probably a long shot, fishing for answers like this; especially after yesterday's attempt, but it's something that had been puzzling him ever since Hermione had told him they'd come through the Veil.

Loki hums but doesn't answer. His hands are absently creating some kind of intricate knot-work out of a bunch of twigs. He soldiers on through the silence anyway.

"If the Veils were created in the beginnings of the universe-or universes, I guess- then I'd think they should be pretty similar properties wise. So why is it that this universe's Veil acts differently? And wouldn't it be, like, a two-way thing? In which case, why have we never had anyone come through ours?"

Loki pauses in his work and rolls his head to the side to regard Harry. His eyes are considering, but he doesn't look like he's planning on actually saying anything. He huffs in frustration, "Come on mate, cut me slack here; what exactly could I do with the information anyway?"

The corners of Loki's eyes dip in amusement, "It's the archways."

Harry blinks in surprise; he certainly hadn't counted on that working. He thinks on Loki's answer, "And there's no archway here."

The Asgardian nods, "There was- once. Made long before humanity had even learnt to speak. They are- were- like an anchor for The Veil; a two-way corridor leading from one universe to the other. The Midgardians worshipped it for a while, but it fell into obscurity with the advent of  _Christianity_." He wrinkles his nose as the term, like it's a dirty word, "I believe there remained still an underground cult that saw to its upkeep and maintained its secrecy.

"But then your people had the  _charming_  idea of sending convicted criminals through. They thought they were demons sent straight from hell. The Veil was spewing forth monsters- rabid Seiðr who revelled in suffering- on a semi-regular basis. The guardian cult didn't stand a chance- they were eliminated quickly- and it took a long time for the locals to work out where they were coming from. In the end, they did the only thing they could do; they destroyed the arch." Loki huffs out a sigh, "It's a shame really; there's not that many objects of such antiquity left in the universe."

Harry looks down at his half-eaten apple thoughtfully; though he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"Of course, they couldn't actually destroy the thing that was allowing the 'demons' to pass through- the archway acts only as a focus and anchor for the Veil- but with its anchor destroyed, the Veil was set free. It's been following the currents of the wind for centuries now."

He blinks in surprise. That actually made some kind of sense.

"Does that mean there's only two alternate universes? It was my understanding that there was an infinite amount- I remember Hermione discussing it at some point. So couldn't you access multiple universes through the Veil?"

Loki shakes his head, "These are the only two that hold artefacts like the Veil in all of the Nine Realms- hence why it is only these two are linked via Midgard, but there are quite certainly an infinite number of parallel universes out there."

Harry chews on the information for as long as he chews on his apple, grateful to at least that much. Loki hadn't answered everything he wanted to know- not by a long shot, but he's not about to forget his promise that all information came at a price. It's probably best to stay quiet for now about it.

Maybe tomorrow, he'll ask again.

* * *

Harry doesn't ask tomorrow.

Or the day after that. Or even the day after that. He's too exhausted by the oddly strict yet simultaneously lax regimen of meditation and spell work he finds himself in. Loki has him working from dawn until dusk most days (which is disorientating given the different time zones between the two sites); refining his summoning technique until it takes barely any concentration, and extending his stamina. It's challenging work, but he's nothing if not stupidly proud of how far he's come in so short a timeframe. And part of him feels guilty for that- a large part- because Hermione must be worried sick about him, and by now she'd have probably started tearing out her hair in frustration from her fruitless search for him.

With thoughts of Hermione in mind, every night without fail, he tests the wards of his prison, searching for weaknesses or loopholes to escape through, but whatever 'simple spell work' Loki had left on his door that first day had evidently been replaced with something far more infallible in the time since. Harry reigns himself to being stuck with the fallen god for the time being.

Loki is an odd teacher for Harry to deal with. He comes across for the most part as an eclectic mix Snape's antipathy; Malfoy and his unending vitriol; Professor McGonagall's caustic sternness and, unnervingly, Hermione with her stubborn studiousness, thrown in for good measure. It unsettles him; leaves him unsure of where to tread; what he can ask for without fearing the repercussions. Because as much as Loki comes across as (somewhat) benign, Harry is still aware that he's the man that had attempted to take over the world, and kidnapped him with little compunction for the fallout of such a move. The barest human necessities- food, water, clothing… rest- are granted to him like an afterthought- as though Loki forgets he even needs them- but are rarely denied, unless he's in a particularly sadistic mood.

They turn up occasionally; triggered by what feels like nothing at all- Harry doesn't talk to him much apart from asking for the things needed to keep him comfortable- but the disgraced prince never sends more than carefully crafted barbs, directed at whatever character flaw tickles his fancy at the time. He tries to brush them off- ignore them and remain passive to the obvious provocations- but the man is a manipulator; cunning and wily and more than a little bit vicious, and it's little comfort when he falls into his bed at the end of another exhausting day.

On his fifth day with Loki (awake that is; he's not entirely sure how long Loki kept him under before that), he's set to work on offensive and defensive magics; shields to build around himself and bolts of energy that can move in straight and curved lines, or even lock onto a target. It comes to him with a tentative ease now- though he's nowhere near the instinctual reflexes Loki seems to exhibits- and he only needs to think of pulling his magic to the surface and it comes; vibrant and addictive, bubbling beneath his skin like electricity. Part of him wonders why it's so easy-  _surely_  if it were so simple to learn, wizards would never have bothered with wands in the first place.

And then he gets distracted by some falling leaves, or a stone thrown at him by a bored Trickster and the magic unravels- or worse, blows up in his face- and he remembers again why wands are so popular.

Because this magic is  _hard_. It requires a constant, conscious effort on his part- more than just some spoken words and movement of his wand. If he's distracted for even a moment, his efforts dissipate like ashes on the wind. It's tiring and eternally frustrating, but when things go right, the results are immensely satisfying. Every shield; every flicker of flame; every unnatural growth of the plants around him, happens because of his hard work.

It occurs to him at some point that maybe the ease with which he manages to perform wandless magic is less because of any improved tutorship and more because there's something profoundly  _different_  with the magic here. Which is an unfamiliar concept for him to consider, given magic is mostly internalised, but he's pretty sure he heard from Hermione at some point that magical cores were like batteries that drew from the Earth's power. Or something. Harry can't exactly tell for himself though; given his relative inexperience with inspecting the taste and feel of both the Earth's magic and his own, he wouldn't even know if they were identical or as radically different as the sun and the moon.

He asks Loki about it late into the afternoon on his fifth day. Loki just shrugs in a way that makes Harry immediately certain that the Asgardian does in fact know the answer but is disinclined to tell him.

Harry sighs. Information was not free and so far he'd worked on the assumption that Loki was feeding him information bit by excruciating bit as some kind of strange reward for his good behaviour; like not trying to escape. Not that Harry was particularly tempted to escape. Besides testing the wards on his room, there wasn't really all that much Harry could do to get away from wherever he was- not without bringing out the Death Stick, which was right up at the top of his 'Things-I-really-don't-want-to-have-to-do' List.

Needless to say, they had something of an odd relationship.

He tries for wheedling instead. Harry gets the impression that sometimes Loki just likes to play hard to get, and it had worked for him the other day.

"I mean," He continues resolutely, "It's hard to tell myself, because I've never exactly tried to analyse my magic like this."

"And what makes you think that I would know?"

Harry shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance, "You seem like someone who would make it their business to know." Is he hoping flattery will work? Yes. Yes he is.

Loki stares at him, but his 'serene' expression doesn't scream at him to back off, which is probably as close to encouragement as he's going to get.

"Someone as intelligent as you- uh- probably would have studied it, right?"

His eyes dip at the corners, visibly amused at the clumsy ploy.

"I did notice a difference," he concedes finally, "between the magical signatures of travellers who had arrived, and those that survived their first month on Midgard."

Harry fights the urge to say or do  _anything_  that might make Loki realise he was speaking and clam back up.

"The taste of magic from your world… it feels milder. No less potent, but certainly tamer; more cultured. Magic on this Midgard is raw; unrefined. I hypothesized that it was due to the lack of  _Seiðr;_  your Midgard had several millennia of magic users feeding off its powers. It was hardly a surprise that its magic would not come out of such an exchange unscathed.

"That said, for those that came out of such a… refined-" He sneers at the word as though he finds personal offense in it, "-culture of magic users, the vast majority of Veil travellers are disappointingly unskilled."

Harry frowns thoughtfully, choosing to ignore the dig at his own talents, "Yeah, but that's kind of a given, don't you think? I mean, those wizards were for the most part evil, and the Ministry sent them through presumably with no possessions. Before Hermione and I," and he absolutely refuses to think about Malfoy at a time like this, "Did you ever actually come across a wizard with a wand?"

Loki grins wickedly "Once. But he was battle weary and I had no interest in him; which is what makes your appearance so  _exciting_."

And the Asgardian sorcerer springs forward, a dagger seemingly appearing out of thin air and headed straight for him.

 


	5. Run Rabbit, Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a day early. Lucky you :P
> 
> That said, AND PLEASE READ: I'm sorry to say that I won't be able to update GE for the next several weeks or so- probably not until the 8th of November. There are two reasons for this; one, I've run out of chapter backlogs, so I no longer have a buffer between updates. Two; I'm in the back end of uni, and I have two major art projects to produce, two major essays and two weeks of pre-service teaching prac coming up in the next month. So writing is definitely going to have to go on the back burner. I didn't want to do this, and I didn't really want to do it in this chapter, but it's become unavoidable. So... sorry.
> 
> In other... things. A HUGE thank-you to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter! I haven't had the time this last fortnight to reply to most people, which is a little disheartening, because there are some people who left so fantastic comments- know that you are very much loved and I thank you for taking the time to leave me something. It is seriously one of the best feelings to get such awesome feedback from my readers! It has seriously made my busy, busy fortnight XD Please keep it up!
> 
> Anyways: onwards, I suppose.

 

 

For the briefest of moments, Harry is frozen in his place, entirely unsure of what he's supposed to do- because  _is he for-fucking-real, what-the-shit_. And then his stupid brain kicks into gear before it gets him killed and he's launching himself to the side, behind a tree and away from the  _fucking-bullshit_  dagger of Loki's.

"What the hell!" He yells from his (laughably piteous) hiding spot.

Loki laughs, loud and  _giddy_  and absolutely and completely unhinged.

Harry is  _definitely_  regretting his decision to not try and escape from Loki now.

"Fight me, Potter!" The deranged Asgardian shouts, sounding gleeful enough to be absolutely terrifying.

"I'm not going to bloody fight you!" Harry replies rather hysterically. He  _knew_  his luck would turn bad again, he thinks sourly as a missile of green fire overshoots his hiding place by several meters. It lands on the ground and explodes into globules of sticky flames. He swears, "Have you fucking  _seen_  yourself?" He rolls away from another missile that lands noticeably closer to his stupidly vulnerable person, "You're like the fucking boss fight on a video game and I haven't even made it past beginner's level!"

Loki appears before him and Harry stiffens, freezing in place again. The Trickster tilts in head in bewilderment, "I don't understand that reference." He balances the blade of a dagger on his finger, as if debating whether he wants to throw it at him (odd, because  _of course_  he wants to throw it at him).

"Uh…" Harry replies eloquently, "If you let me live, I'll totally show you what it means."

He smiles; amused, "Mmm- no."

A twig cracks behind him, and it's all the warning he needs to dodge to the left, throwing a handful of twigs and dead leaves at the man in front of him as he does so. In the corner of his eye the decaying vegetable matter passes through the illusion ineffectually. The image cancels itself out as the actual Loki laughs, several feet behind him.

"Nice evading there,  _boy_." He drawls as Harry scrambles away as quickly as he can, "How about you try some running too, to keep me entertained?"

"Fuck you, Loki!" He retorts, but follows his suggestion anyway because there's not much else he  _can_  do right now. It's a difficult task, considering the uneven and rocky terrain and the tree roots he  _swears_  are actually trying to trip him up.

"Run, boy!" Loki taunts back, far too close for his comfort, "I didn't want you to fight back anyway; imagine how  _boring_  that would be!"

If Harry didn't know better, he'd swear the Trickster was using  _sarcasm_.

"Why are you doing this?!"

"Why do I do anything?"

"I wouldn't know! I'm not a fucking  _psychopath!_ " Loki appears in from of him again and- not knowing if it's another illusion or the real thing- he throws himself to the side, wincing as an exposed section of rock scrapes the skin off his elbow. He's momentarily satisfied though when a ball of green fire explodes precisely where he'd been seconds before.

"Touché." He quips seriously- from his left, this time. At his feet, the exposed roots of the forest floor begin to writhe  _upwards_ , grabbing at his feet like something straight out of nightmare.

" _Shit_." He cries as they successfully trip him. The roots continue to grow up his shins and he looks around desperately, "That's cheating!"

"Cheating?" From the right, though there's no one there, and if Harry wasn't absolutely certain Loki wanted to play with his food first before killing him, he would be absolutely shitting himself right now, "It's not cheating; I never specified the rules."

"That's not- oh  _Merlin_  you're impossible."

"I am  _Loki_. Try and say it with me; Lo-ki."

Harry ignores the stupidly cheerful psychopath in favour of tearing at the roots with his hands, but some are too thick and refuse to break. " _Balls_ ," he snarls through gritted teeth. In the stress of the moment (because he knows that if he doesn't get out soon, playing or not Loki is going to get bored and kill him anyway) he tries to focus on summoning his magic. It rises sluggishly, flickering in the corners of his mind like a recalcitrant child, but he's so relieved he could almost cry. He imagines extra strength to his hands and manages to tear the roots apart with little fuss. The magic disperses almost immediately after he scrambles away.

Loki makes an impressed sound, "Very good!" he felicitates, "You're actually thinking now! Makes a change."

"Screw you Loki!" He calls out over his shoulder, already on the run again.

He laughs loudly, "Well, one of your lot did."

"I-  _what?_ " He almost-  _almost-_ stops dead in his tracks, "Merlin, it wasn't Malfoy was it?  _Please_  tell me it wasn't Malfoy, I-  _fuck_ \- I think the world would actually implode in the ensuing chaos."

"A God never- how do you Midgardians put it? Kiss and tells?" To punctuate the question, a dagger clips past his knee, slicing through the denim like butter.

" _Shit!_  C'mon man, give a guy a break!" He jumps over a half-rotted fallen tree and slams straight into a wall of roots that wrap around his torso instantly. His heart rate- high enough already- triples and his panic increases ten-fold.

"I am no man! I am a  _God!_ "

He laughs hysterically, the vines tightening around his throat so he can't even move his head to scan for the pursuing madman, "Mate, if there's one thing Doctor Who's taught me, it's that being a semi-immortal alien doesn't make you any less of a man."

A disdainful snort, "Doctor who?"

He can't help it; he giggles, "I- oh God you walked straight into that one!"

As if in retaliation, Loki materializes in front of him, visible through the tangle of vines and roots.

"No more running."

Harry glances pointedly downwards, "I'm kind of tied up at the moment. Let me call you back."

He sneers, "I did not call you."

Harry doesn't answer. The demigod frowns at him. "Potter?"

Silence. The air around Harry begins to heat up. Understanding flashes across Loki's face and he steps back, expectant.

Harry ignites with a soft  _fwoosh_ ; vivid blue flames erupting about him and eating away at the surrounding roots. Smoke spreads like fog around him as the green wood burns merrily. He grins widely and pulls himself free from the burning wreckage of the wall.

"I-" he declares, swatting at the small flames that remain on his person, "-am awesome."

Loki tips his head and gives him an amused smirk, "It's still on fire."

He glances back at the wall, "Oh crap." It is indeed still on fire, despite the fact that it's all green wood that has no business in burning with such vigour. He bites his lip in consternation. "I, er, guess I didn't quite think that one through, did I?" Because there's no way he'd going to be able to put that out- most of the flames are bright blue; still being fed by his magic.

"Indeed."

"Umm… a little help?" Before he inadvertently sets the entire forest on fire.

Loki cancels the flames with a careless wave of his arm. Harry is intensely jealous of the ease with which he wields his magic and scuffs the ground sheepishly, "Guess I'm not as awesome as I thought."

"No."

And then Loki throws a bolt of crackling electricity at him and the chase resumes.

He flees- back the way he'd just come from. A tree he passes explodes on impact with whatever kind of weapon his assailant decides to fail to hit him with (and at this point, Harry is very much convinced that Loki is choosing to miss, because there's just  _no way_  he's managed to survive this long otherwise. The term 'playing with his food' comes to mind) and the force of the blast propels him forwards. He lands; trips, loses his balance and falls flat on his face; his breath torn out of him and replaced with a good mouthful of dead leaves for good measure. Through his wheezing gasps he registers the stinging pain of several sizeable splinters lodged in his back, though none of them feel large enough to be truly serious.

He ignores the discomfort and the distasteful sensation of blood dripping down his arms- warm and thick- and pushes himself up onto his feet, stumbling away before Loki- once again-  _chooses_  to catch up with him. He feels very much like a fox in a deadly game of 'chasey', and still isn't entirely sure if this sparring on steroids, or a legitimate battle to the death.

"You can't run forever Potter! Sooner or later you'll have to fight me!" Loki taunts, his voice all around him.

"With _what?_ "

"You have all the tools you need at your disposal. Use them!"

"I'm not- what the fuck?" The Asgardian appears in front of him and he turns about face, dodging another explosive shard of light, "You've been going on for ages about how bullshit wands are, and now you want me to  _use_   _it?_ "

His rumbling chuckle reverberates through the forest. "Humour me Potter." The ' _or die'_  goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air just as clearly as if he had spoken them. Not that Harry  _could_  die- probably- but it wasn't exactly a theory his was intent on testing.

"Why the  _hell_  should I?"

A sigh, "I had hoped the threat of injury would be incentive enough."

Harry snorts in amusement, catching his breath for a moment with his back pressed tight against the trunk of an ancient oak tree. "Fat bloody chance with that!"

"I see that now. It would seem you need a more effective incentive." He sighs again, sounding disheartened and slightly wistful, "A shame too; I rather liked your companion… such spirit."

His blood runs cold; his stomach drops.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Is that a challenge, Potter?" His words are dark; threatening. A shiver runs down his spine. Loki is  _serious_.

" _Please._ " He begs, stepping away from the shelter of the oak, looking around himself wildly for the Asgardian, "Cut me; maim me;  _kill_ me. But  _please;_ don't bring Hermione into this."

A half-hearted laugh; Harry swings around to face the Trickster God. There's no smile now, "It's too late for that."

" _Harry?_ "

He shakes his head at the other man; disbelieving. "You  _bastard_."

" _Harry? Tony?!_ "

"Run to her, Potter."

He takes a step backwards, breathing in a shaky sob, "Hermione!?"

"Oh thank  _God;_ Harry, where are you?" Her voice comes from his right- he thinks- from far enough away that the words are slightly muffled. He stumbles towards it, desperate enough not to care about the near certainty of it being a trap.

"I swear to God," he snarls beneath his breath as he runs on unsteady feet, "I'll kill you, I swear it. If your hurt a hair on the woman's head I'll tear you  _limb from fucking limb_."

A mirthless chuckle, close on his left. He flinches. "Are you sure? She has quite a lot of it; I can't imagine she'd miss one or two."

"Harry? Harry, where am I?"

"It's okay Hermione! I'm coming."

A shift of colour; vermillion and washed out blue peeks between a gap in a thicket of trees on his ten o'clock. He slices through them with a sword of magic and is surprised when it works. He almost sobs in relief when he sees skin and wide brown eyes revealed in the wreckage of saplings.

She's tied by her hands to a towering fir tree; arms stretched cruelly above her in a posture chillingly reminiscent of the ancient sagas- where virginal maidens were lashed to rocks to await sacrifice. She sobs and snarls against the restraints and almost wrenches her arms from their sockets as she tries to launch herself forwards, feet planted flat against the cracked and flaking bark.

She sobs in relief as she catches sight of him. "Harry. Oh God  _Harry_  where have you  _been?_  I knew you weren't dead!"

And if he'd harboured any doubts as to the authenticity of her unexpected appearance before, it's assuaged by the faint smugness that underlies that sentence.

"Tony and Bruce were doubtful, and poor Steve had all but written you off, but I  _knew_. I knew you couldn't die." She frowns as a thought just occurs to her, "That said, how are you standing? Loki shot you; twice-" her eyes widen, latching onto his shirt, "You're  _bleeding!_ "

Harry smiles slightly; trust her to point that out when she was still tied to a tree. "Never mind that; I'll explain it to you later." He moves forwards, unable to sense any lingering traps in the area, "How did you get here?"

Her lips press together in a thin line, "I don't know. One minute, I was working with Tony; the next I'm here, trussed to a bloody tree like a bloody chicken!" Her eyes narrow, "This is Loki's doing isn't it?"

He fights back the uneasiness churning in his gut, "Yeah." He cuts through her bindings- imagining he was holding a knife- and Hermione lowers her arms in relief. She eyes his hands in speculation.

"That's a new trick."

"I- yeah. I've been practicing." He grasps her wrists and rubs at them gently to stimulate blood flow, "Did he hurt you?"

"No. I just… woke up here. Where are we?" She twists her hands to hold his wrists weakly, "Where have you  _been?_ " She stiffens suddenly, shrewd eyes taking in his dishevelled appearance and heaving chest. They linger on the latter in particular.

"Loki shot you…" Her jaw tightens and she steps away from him in suspicion, "It's only been a week. Even with your healing, there's no way you could be up and running." She pales, swallowing nervously, "Loki's a master of-"

She cuts herself off and takes another step backwards, body poised for flight, "What was Sirius' nickname in Hogwarts?"

He swallows. Part of him breaks as he realises that they've been reduced to security questions once again. Life should have grown better after the war. They should have grown fat and old and had a handful of children each.

Hermione confuses his contrition for hesitation, " _Harry_." She says sharply, hand sliding to her empty wand holster. Eyes widen in realisation and the distrust turns to fear.

"Padfoot. He used to be called Padfoot."

The taut lines of her body disappear. She smiles at him in relief. "Oh Merlin, Harry I was so  _worried!_ " She throws herself into his arms like they've been apart for years and he buries his face in her hair. She smells like cinnamon and part of him can't help but relax at the familiar smell; she must have gotten a hold of her old shampoo.

"I know. Loki- he cast an illusion- made it look like he'd shot me, but it was just an act. He's been teaching me things-" He pulls away, tugging on her hand insistently, "We have to get out of here. He's gone mad-  _for real_  this time. I don't know what changed but I think he actually wants to kill me now."

As if to confirm his admission, Hermione's eyes widen in fear, focussed on something behind him.

"Visiting time's over." Loki jeers. Harry swear and drags the witch away, squeezing them through another wall of trees on the other side of the oak. It explodes a moment later in a blast of green flames; the boom of its detonation enough to blast them through the small thicket. Temporarily deafened and disorientated, they lumber away as fast as their shaking, bruised limbs can carry them.

"Why is he doing this?" Hermione cries from his side, desperately trying to keep up with his mad dash.

He doesn't answer immediately, passing through the scenario in his mind as they flee the embittered laugher that echoes through the silent woods, "I don't know- one moment he was fine- the next he's lost his shit and starts throwing sharp, pointy things at me!"

"Now is that any way to speak of your  _gracious_  host Potter?" I offer you my roof; my food; my guidance!"

Another wall of roots and saplings spring from the earth. Hermione all but tears his arm out as she pulls them out of the way, only to trip on the secondary trap the Trickster sets. She cries in pain as her shins slap brutally on the barrier of rock that rises to knee height and their momentum throws them straight into another tree/root barricade. It ensnares them as efficiently as the last time and their hands separate in the mayhem of snarled words and grasping wood that moves around them so they're facing outwards.

Loki strolls into their line of vision, his expression startlingly morose, "I think you've done quite enough running, wouldn't you say?"

Harry bites his tongue ;Hermione's gasping breaths ring in his ears to his left- inhibiting his concentration. Desperately he searches for the reservoir, intent on burning them out of their confinement. He wishes fiercely for the ability to do more than this. Suddenly, the Trickster is in front of him, eyes sparking fiercely.

The backhand seems to come from nowhere; the force of the slap snaps his head to the side violently. His lip and cheek go numb and his ears resume their ringing. Any hope of summoning his magic vanishes as pain throbs through his face.

" _Idiot Boy!_ " Loki snarls, all up in his face, "Set them on fire and  _she_  burns with it!"

He pulls back, contemptuous. "I have one final lesson to teach you today." His attention switches to Hermione and his arm extends, grabbing at the front of her shirt and throwing her behind him. The creak and groan of moving wood is drowned out by her surprised shriek. Harry's eyes widen in despair as she's pinned to the wall they'd just dodged. Bark covered limbs encase her outstretched arms, spread as though she were being crucified. The wooden shackles tighten cruelly about her forearms and shins.

They creak ominously.

"Oh God." She breathes and Harry tugs at his restraints desperately. For one burning, bright moment they lock eyes- before she closes hers. She raises her chin in defiance, but her breathing comes in short gasps as she fights against her composure. Harry has no such control.

"Loki  _let her go_! She has nothing to do with this! Please Loki,  _please!_ "

Loki shakes his head and stoically disregards his furious pleas, "No, Harry Potter. I tried reason; you ignored it. And now you will bear witness to the casualties your weaknesses will bring. Starting with the girl."

" _I'll kill you!_ " He snarls.

"Please." Loki states, face expressionless, "You wouldn't stand a chance in Hel."

His outstretched hand curls into a fist, and a sickening  _snap_  corresponds with the movement.

Hermione's bloodcurdling scream joins it a moment later.

" _HERMIONE!_ " Harry howls, searching;  _searching_ and-  _oh God yes._

The power surges through his veins, violent and potent and his arm tears through the wood like it were tissue paper. Loki watches with sombre eyes. He ignores the inhuman keening coming from the woman behind him- interspersed with dry retches.

"You brought this on yourself." He says grimly and doesn't so much as flinch as the fireball Harry sends barrelling towards him disperses ineffectually around him. His hand twitches again, and Hermione wails as her other arm gives way to the unrelenting pressure of her bindings. Her voice gives out halfway through; breaths coming in short, pained sobs.

" _I'LL KILL YOU!_ " He screams, and pulls on the pendant that lies faithfully about his neck.

* * *

The change is immediate.

It's so,  _so_  different from before.

The last time he'd used the Death Stick- back in the death throes of his teenager years, fresh out of auror training- he'd put a renegade Death Eater in a coma for a  _month_  with a simple  _stupefy_. The wand was disparate from his old Holly; a discordant power that grated against his own magic. It had felt… wrong. Unnatural; amplifying his intent to levels it should never reach. He'd snapped the thing for the first time when the Death Eater failed to respond to anyone's  _rennervate._ Not that it had made much difference.

It  _always_  came back; they all did.

This time though; this time he can feel more than just the wand's magic rubbing up against his psyche- he can actually  _feel_ his magic. He can sense the way it automatically contains itself- pulling back and simmering beneath his skin as it meshes with the amplifying nature of the Death Stick. It still feels unnatural and different, but the inherent wrongness he'd sensed before is gone; his heightened awareness stripping away all the misconceptions he'd harboured for the wand.

Because the Death Stick is not evil; not good. Death, he realises, is an intrinsically indifferent thing. It touches all, no matter the age, or race, or social standing. It neither encourages nor discourages destruction. Objectively it cares for neither. It is not a weapon; nor is it an instrument for peace. It is reverent to nothing. It is merely a tool, and all it offers is pure, unmitigated  _power._

For a single, shining moment, he is at one with himself; surrounded by immense power. Safe and protected from it all.

And then he remembers Hermione.

" _Stupefy._ " He thunders, and the rock where Loki should have been standing on explodes.

Any other time, he'd have blinked in surprise. Any other time he'd have paused to think about how he expects a fight like this to pan out. Any other time, he would have hesitated; thought twice about his path of action.

But any other time, Hermione wasn't hanging limply from a wall of vines as she choked on broken sobs; arms bent in ways that will never be natural. Fury burns through his veins like acid.

Loki appears to his left. The sombre expression is gone- replaced instead with one of delight. "Oh yes!" he crows in victory, "Now the boy decides to truly play!" He shakes his head in mock disappointment, eyes sliding over to Hermione's broken form, "Shame it had to be at the expense of your lovely companion."

Harry sees red.

" _Defodio!_ "

The shield Loki brings up disintegrates as quickly as it's cast; gouged apart by the force of the spell. Loki just laughs. "Colour me impressed Potter. It gladdens me to see the Master of Death wielding their power with  _such_  aplomb." He smirks, "When push comes to shove, you may not be  _as_  useless as I'd-"

"- _Glacius Tria!_ "

The Asgardian's eyes widen in surprise as the spell catches an arm mid-taunt. It freezes the flesh almost instantly and ice gathers on the skin in a way that Harry hopes is intensely painful.

Loki sneers, power visibly gathering around him, "Ice cannot effect a Jӧtunn, boy."

And he has little time to think about the way the skin about Loki's arm and neck have turned a dusky azure when he's throwing the ice shards right back at him. He casts a simple  _protego_  almost on instinct and the projectiles shatter on impact. He watches in muted fascination as the blue recedes as quickly as it had appeared- replaced with his normal, pale skin.

His upper lip curls in contempt, " _Confringo._ " He snarls under his breath, hoping a change in tactics will catch Loki off guard, but the violent eruption of heat and flames at the Trickster's feet only succeeds in disfiguring his presence.

"You're too slow." Loki teases from several feet behind him and Harry casts a silent  _diffindo_  over his shoulder in retaliation. He spins around to meet Loki's scowling face, looking down in displeasure at his suddenly tattered clothes. It fails to actually harm the man of course, but it's enough of a distraction to pin his feet down with a, " _Duro Tria._ " His boots quickly turn grey as they transformed into stone. The force put into the spell causes the stone to grow upwards. It spreads like a disease and reaches the Trickster's knees by the time he can counter the magic. Before he can move, Harry sticks his feet to the ground with a non-verbal spell and aims a conjunctivitis curse at his eyes, viciously hoping it's strong enough with the Death Stick to permanently blind him.

The bastard snarls; hands which had previously been attempting to extricate his feet from the superglue-like substance attaching him to the ground fly up to his face, clawing at his burning eyes. In satisfaction Harry ties him down with a nonverbal array of  _impedimenta_ and  _incarcerous_  spells. He knows the spells won't restrain him for long, but he's counting on them lasting long enough to do some serious damage on the man.

He advances on Loki, eyes blazing, wand held in front of him like a sword. The Asgardian tugs at his bindings experimentally, but gives him no outward impression of being perturbed by it. If anything, he looks only mildly disgruntled by the position, and there's a smug gleam in his irritated eyes that doesn't bode well for anybody involved. He wants to tear it from his face; the bastard had  _hurt Hermione_. There was a line he should never have touched and the Asgardian had leapt over it as though it were never there.

He keeps his wand trained on Loki's chest. "I should kill you." He breathes, not once glancing away from the Trickster.

Loki's eyes slide over his shoulder, eyes presumably locking on Hermione. He gives Harry a slow, wide smile that is far from comforting. "You could. Perhaps. Jӧtunn's nor the Aesir are true immortals- not like you are. The question is; will you?"

"You'll  _pay_  for what you've done, Loki of Asgard."

The fallen god  _grins_. Never has Harry wanted to hurt a person more, "I think you overestimate your ability to kill, Boy."

In blatant challenge, he lifts his head; baring his neck to Harry's wand. He falters at the mocking exhibit of submission; Loki's green, green eyes trained on him with laser-like focus. He tightens the ropes around the Asgardian in prudence.

"What would Hermione think, Potter? To know you'd killed in her name?" Loki wheezes as they squeeze his neck. He takes a brazen step forward, snarling.

"You  _don't_ get the right to say her name!"

He laughs, "You did this to her, Potter. Dragged her along on your sorry adventures.  _It's all your fault._ "

Harry stares at him for a good, long moment. He was  _daring_  him to kill him. Daring him to step up to the mark and end his life. Because he knew- he  _knew_ \- Harry wouldn't do it. Loki may have no compunctions when it came to crossing lines, but Harry did, and psychopath or not, he would not allow a man like Loki to taunt him into taking another's life.

The Trickster's eyes light up in triumph as Harry slowly lowers his wand.

"That's what I thought." He sneers; vainglorious, "Now, if you don't mind. I think that's my cue to leave."

And then Loki's image fades- flickering out of existence like a faulty holograph- and the ropes fall to the ground like he was never there at all.

Harry does the mature thing and screams in frustration at the indifferent forest canopy.

" _LOKI!_  Show yourself, you bastard!"

He casts every revealing spell he knows at the forest- desperate to find the Trickster- when a whimper from behind him reminds him with shameful clarity exactly why his was so furious.

"Hermione." She stares down at him with glassy, unfocussed eyes; already falling into shock. Her forearms have turned a hideous purple and he pushes down the nausea at the way they bend unnaturally, "Hermione look at me."

He cups her face gently and she complies slowly- tortuously- as though moving through syrup. She blinks at him, and her mouth moves, shaping silent words he can't read. No sound comes out of her, besides her slow, heavy breathing. He brushes at the tears on her cheeks, "Hermione I'm going to let you down now, and then I'm going to take you home, okay?"

She nods lethargically. He smiles, "Good. On the count of three; one, two-" He cuts her from the vines on two and she falls forwards; landing on him like a dead weight.

He staggers backwards, arms rising to wrap around her back in reflex, and watches in horror as her wild hair morphs into a shock of well-kept raven hair; her body grows- weight multiplying.

Loki's unbroken arms rise up to grasp at his shoulders cruelly. He smiles at Harry's astonished face, razor sharp and ruthless. His final victory over the Master of Death.

" _Surprise._ " The Trickster God taunts. His fingers press down hard enough to bruise and he tears them from the forest, landing them back in his room with far less elegance than usual.

_Never trust a Trickster, Harry Potter._

He should have remembered that from the start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... so yeah. This chapter got unexpectedly dark. Like, honest to God,;never expected Loki to pull such an underhanded trick on Harry like that... and then he did. So, yeah. Sorry. Although, to clarify- because I don't know how obvious it was, and I don't want to leave you guys hanging- that was never actually Hermione. Rest assured, Loki has not kidnapped Hermione in the time since we last saw her.
> 
> He did, however, masquerade with Harry to fuck with him; because he is of course a bit of an arsehole, and slightly fucked in the head. Of course, there was method to his madness. Harry, I don't think, would have been one to pull out the Death Stick to use to help himself. To help someone he loves however... well that's another kettle of fish entirely.
> 
> So. I guess you'll see me on the 8th of November. Again; I'm sorry I've had to do it, but it's pretty much unavoidable right now. There's just so many things on my plate right now, and most of them I get marked on.
> 
> PLEASE REVIEW! Every review you leave paints another rainbow in my dark and monochrome world.
> 
> Cinna


	6. Leo the Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER! Wooo. On time as promised, too!
> 
> Been working on this the last month and a half, slowly but surely. This semester has been INTENSE! I made pretties, and wrote beautiful things, and worked for beautiful children. I JUST finished two weeks of Practicum, and one of my classes was English, crime fiction writing. Oh God; reading some of those drafts was soul sucking. However, I did come across my favourite line ever:
> 
> 'She burst into tears, and was like a tumbleweed lying in a ball of sadness.'
> 
> Year 10s, ladies and gentlemen...  
> A little bit of house keeping; I will be retcon-ing (tomorrow) chapter 24, and putting in that Loki took Harry's mokeskin pouch. It hadn't occurred to me at time of writing, and didn't until this chapter, but made far more sense in the scheme of things. So there you go.
> 
> Also, I had a few people wondering about how Loki knew Sirius' nickname. The answer is of course- he didn't. In fact, he didn't even know for sure that Sirius even had a nickname. HOWEVER; he did know Sirius had gone to Hogwarts- mostly because of listening in or conversations. He also knew that Sirius could turn into a dog- learnt at some point from watching him. From this, he inferred that Sirius quite probably had some kind of nickname at school, and that Harry would most likely know of it. He didn't know what it was, specifically, but he knew that it was something he could ask Harry when masquerading as Hermione that would most likely be able to be answered by him.

Harry is stunned into speechlessness.  _No way_  did Loki just make that whole thing up. No  _fucking_  was that entire thing an illusion.

"Loki," He growls, grabbing at the collar of his tunic before he can move away, "What did you  _do?_ "

The bastard grins at him wickedly, "God of trickery and deceit. I swear people keep on forgetting that." He looks put out at the thought. "Men like you; they're always so  _selfless_. Put you in the line of danger and you won't care. But put someone else in there and the need to be a hero comes roaring out. You can't resist."

Harry jams his wand into the soft spot under Loki's jaw. "You used Hermione as  _bait_." He takes vicious satisfaction in the way it digs into his flesh; he half wishes it was a blade instead.

Loki rolls his eyes, entirely unaffected by the threat of the Death Stick, "It was an  _illusion_. You had every chance you work that out for yourself." He knocks away the wand with a long-fingered hand. Harry curls his upper lip at the blasé dismissal.

"No more tricks. No more illusions."

The Asgardian moves away, watching him out the corner of his eye. He smirks, "What's wrong, Potter? Hit too far below the belt for your liking?"

Harry shakes his head, astounded. "You used my best friend as  _bait_. You  _tortured her_. That's so far below the belt you may as well be aiming for my feet."

He puts on a mocking pout, "It wasn't  _real_."

"It was bloody real enough."

Loki laughs lowly, "You needed a kick up the arse; as you Midgardians like to put it. She was as good a motivation as any."

"If you use her as leverage again Loki, I cannot be held accountable for my actions."

The grin he sends him is so wide it's almost sincere, "And  _there_  is the Master of Death you should have been all along."

"Shut. Up."

"You should have accepted your rightful station a long time ago. Such self-flagellation and abstinence is unbefitting of the Master of Death."

He says nothing; uninterested in challenging the statement. There was no point in trying to argue with the silver tongue of Loki. Men like him were born to manipulate others; no matter how truthful they seemed most of the time. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he'd begun to forget that important ingot of truth. Loki was a very old and very smart demi-god. But he also had no empathy for the human race; he was ruthless and self-serving. And he'd almost forgotten that- had almost begun to look up to him as a mentor and trust him- implicitly. He couldn't let that happen again. Not when he knew so little of Loki's true motivations.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to go home now, thanks."

The fallen god nods slowly, "I can do that. You've learnt all that you will; for now."

Harry looks down at the wand in his hand; a deep brown wood with a lattice-carved grip stained in a lighter colour. It's surprisingly unpretentious. Some stubborn, petty part of him wants to reject it- in retaliation of Loki's underhanded persuasion tactics- but the more reasonable part of him understands the necessity of it. If anything, he needs to keep it just for the sake of having a wand; the one Malfoy had given him had been less than useless, after all, and he couldn't just keep using Hermione's all the time.

But the wand wasn't evil, and it wasn't cursed. He could tell that now. It was just different. And if Hermione and Loki were right, he was going to have a long, long time to get used to it.

"… It's my responsibility to use this, isn't it?"

"Yes. Use it; know it; respect it. If you are fortunate, the Hallows will not leave you for a long time."

"Fortunate. Right."

Loki gives him a sharp-edged smile, "I understand longevity is not a quality a great deal of your kind share. It cannot be helped. I would suggest you brace yourself for the inevitable." Harry's half-glad the Trickster doesn't try to offer him condolences. He doesn't think he can handle such sympathy so soon after he'd seemingly broken the limbs of his best friend just to prove a point. Because there was seriously something fucked up about that situation. He pushes back the memory of her inhuman screams even as he physically flinches. Loki watches the movement with no expression, but he gets the impression he knows exactly what he's thinking about.

"It needed to be done."

"Did it?" He snaps, "Because in retrospect that feels like a whole lot of unnecessary violence."

He shrugs, "You would not have brought out the wand for any other reason. You needed to believe it." He gives him a slight smirk, "With a reputation like mine, would you really believe I would do anything less?"

Harry stares at the fallen god for a long time to calm his indignant thoughts. And yes, he had a point there, but that made it little better in the scheme of things.

"Whatever. I'm going."

He smiles slightly, "So soon? But I've a gift for you."

"I don't care. I am  _done_  with this- whatever this was meant to be." He moves towards the door; vaguely aware he's gripping the wand with almost enough force to snap it.

"It's about the dog-man." Harry pauses, and turns on his heel to face the Asgardian. He watches him with that infuriatingly impassive face, "I can take you to him."

He searches for any kind of tell and finds none. Even so, nothing has him inclined to trust Loki at this point. "And you think I can't find him myself?"

Loki's eyes flick down to his wand and back up again. "I'm sure you could. Think of it as saving you the effort. He's hidden himself behind multiple wards."

Harry snorts, "I think I can manage, thanks."

Loki dips his head. "As you wish."

He turns around again; thinks better of it at faces the fallen god, "My mokeskin pouch."

Loki's lips twitch upwards in amusement, "It is yours." He pulls the pouch from a pocket of his coat and tosses it to him. He doesn't fumble through the catch.

He weighs it in his hand, regarding the old belonging with a mix of scepticism and relief. The Trickster watches without comment as he casts a number of detection spells on the pouch and even a  _finite_  on it. He only puts it around his neck when satisfied that Loki's put nothing of suspect on the pouch and turns once again to leave.

He pauses at the door; looks over his shoulder to the other man. Loki stands straight and tall, a deceptively serene expression on his face. "Thanks, I guess. For that." He clears his throat, feeling awkward, " _Don't_  do it again."

A smile pulls at Loki's lips, but he doesn't say anything in return.

This time, when he tries the door, it opens for him.

* * *

Harry doesn't know why he does it.

He doesn't know why he doesn't just go straight to New York and the tower.

In hindsight it was definitely the smarter idea; if only because it was destined to ruffle far less feathers. But the need to find his long-lost Godfather had been burning hot through his veins ever since he'd stepped out of Loki's room into an empty pine forest. He'd chosen to just go with it- confident that Hermione would find his unmasked magical signature almost as soon as he was out of whatever one of Loki's numerous hiding spots he'd ended up in. And besides that, she'd been without him for close to a week (or quite possibly more); a few more hours wouldn't harm her, and finding Sirius was something they should have done almost immediately after finding the ruins of Hogwort Castle.

For all Loki's claims of Sirius hiding behind multiple wards, it takes remarkably little effort to find him. A few Auror-taught tracking spells later (undoubtedly boosted by the extra power of the Death Stick) and he'd pinned Sirius' residence down to a town called Willcox, in America. The wards his Godfather had wisely erected prevent him from scrying the area properly, but he's confident he'll be able to find him once there.

With no small amount of satisfaction and tremulous excitement, he casts a one-way  _portus_  on a nearby branch and sets it for a secluded spot he'd found in some preliminary scrying. One- or three- gut-wrenching seconds later and he finds himself in the grimy backstreet of one of the town's convenience centres. The distasteful scent of rotting food lingers in the air- rising from the large dumpster backed up against a wall. A recycling dumpster sits next to it- overflowing with unflattened cardboard boxes.

"I'd forgotten how  _plebeian_  most of Midgard is." Loki remarks haughtily from behind him. Harry swears loudly and drops the branch.

"God  _dammit_  Loki! Why are you here? I said I was  _done_."

Loki eyes the area in distaste, and shrugs. "Call it a morbid curiosity."

He scowls, "Well you can take your morbid curiosity and shove it where the sun don't shine."

The corner of his lips twitch, "Careful boy," he drawls, eyes flicking up and down Harry's body, "With wit that sharp you might cut yourself."

He can't stop the soft snort of amusement. Which was not to say he wasn't still mad at the Asgardian, but he'd at least had some time to calm down. He sighs heavily, and looks down the line of buildings to the main street. It almost glows with the reflection of the bright, hard light of cars and glass-faced shopfronts.

"Go away?" he tries again, half-heartedly.

"Mmm… no."

"You're going to follow me, aren't you?"

Loki rolls his eyes, and begins to gingerly navigate the strip of concrete leading to the main street, "Don't be stupid, Potter." He calls from behind him, "God's do not follow; they  _lead._ "

Harry shakes his head in derision and jogs to catch up with the Trickster. He stoically ignores the sweltering heat that seems to bounce off the walls of the buildings, but he can feel the droplets of moisture slowly gathering at his lower back and armpits anyway. Loki appears as unaffected as ever though- enviously collected in the clean-cut lines of the suit that has replaced his usual outfits. Which is about the point where Harry realises he can cast a cooling charm on himself- which is probably what Loki has done already.

He mumbles the charm under his breath as he reaches the other man, surreptitiously disguising the movements of his wand from the people on the street. The effect is almost instantaneous. He sighs in relief and pointedly ignores the raised eyebrow from Loki.

"It's this way." Harry says- probably rather pointlessly. He moves to the left and sticks close to the glass walls. He takes in the pedestrians with a muted sense of awe. After spending almost a week in the isolated company of Loki, it feels almost surreal to be surrounded by other people again. Something in him relaxes as the sensation- that is until a woman walking towards them- arms laden with shopping bags- looks at him with a mix of alarm and fear. Her step falters as they stride past her, and the shopping bags swing enthusiastically at the change of pace.

Harry looks down at himself in concern and scowls as he realises how much of a bloody wreck he is. He turns to inspect his reflection in the glass of the closest storefront.

"Bloody hell!" he cries in shock, and glares at Loki from over his shoulder, "You could have bloody  _told_  me I was right mess!" He tugs at the collar of his shirt and grimaces at the way it comes off his skin- stuck there with dried blood. The backs of his arms twinge uncomfortably as he twists to get a view of his back.

His shirt is shredded almost beyond (magical) repair, and littered with bloodstains. His wounds, at least, have stopped bleeding and scabbed over as if they were several days old.

Before Loki can insert some smart-arsed comment he casts a notice-me-not on the pair of them- mostly to hide them from scrutiny as he casts a thorough cleaning spell on himself and fixes up his clothes so he  _doesn't_  look like he's just come out of a warzone. His companion watches in silence and leans against the glass in feigned nonchalance.

Harry takes a moment to revel in the ability to cast magic again. It feels like it's been  _months_  since he's been able to use a wand that wasn't someone else's, and the independence of not having to ask Hermione for her wand is freeing. He smiles at his slightly blurred reflection.

"Right then," he says to it, and casts a light glamour over his face to hide anything he's missed, "Now that I'm fit for human consumption…"

Loki snorts softly from behind him. Harry ignores him in favour of turning and continuing on his way. With the notice-me-not still in place, he murmurs a quiet  _'point me,'_ at his wand. It spins aimlessly for a time- the result of Sirius' wards- but with a fortification from one of his Auror-taught locator spells it steadies. He smiles in triumph and follows the directions of his wand. They walk for close to an hour- taking several turns through the district. The shops turn grungier- more industrial- as they walk and the pedestrian traffic dies down.

Unsure of what he's looking for, he almost walks past the place- the subtle twinge of magical wards the only thing that makes him stop in front of the inauspicious front of a garage. He pockets his wand- eyes fixed on the proudly painted sign- red on white- that reads  _Marauder's Motors_ (and really that was the biggest giveaway, if he'd been paying proper attention). The garbled sound of a radio emanates from the open doors, and Harry can smell the distinctive scent of engine oil and petrol even from the other side of the road.

He swallows- suddenly unbearably nervous. Harry hasn't seen Sirius in seventeen years. He'd mourned for him; mourned for the waste of life and the loss of his most precious parental figure. For years he'd battled with the guilt of knowing Sirius' death was ultimately his fault, though part of him wonders now if he'd mourned more for the idea than he had the man. He had barely known Sirius, really. And Sirius had barely known him. Maybe it was just better to leave him here.

"Are you going to stand there all day? Shall I find somewhere to sit whilst you battle with that ridiculous conscience of yours?"

Harry flinches. He'd half-forgotten Loki was there. He shuffles forward. He was being stupid; even if Sirius had a life, the other wizard had the right to know that he was no longer alone. And he had a duty to see if Sirius was happy. A car drives past; music blares out of it and momentarily drowns out the sounds of the garage. He steps off the sidewalk and across the road. Loki shadows silently.

Across the road the music is louder. A man sings heartily to some classic rock song, probably unaware he can even be heard from outside the shop. He walks out of the blinding haze of the afternoon light and into the darkened garage. Harry's mildly aware that it's even hotter inside than out- the metal roof has only rudimentary insulation, making the area heat up like a goddamn sauna. He's infinitely grateful of the cooling charm. A car sits on some jacks (or whatever they were. Cars weren't Harry thing); white, paint peeling on the rear fender. A man's lags stick out from underneath, previously tapping to the music.

"Hello?" He says loudly to be heard over the music. The singing cuts off abruptly.

A moment's pause, "Can I help you mate?" The man's American accent throws him off for a minute.

He swallows, "I'm looking for a Sirius Black."

The man- or what he can see of him- freezes, before relaxing like nothing ever happened. He doesn't move from underneath the car. "Can't help yer; there's no Sirius Black here." His voice is guarded and if anything his accent grows stronger (like he's trying to hide something).

"Padfoot."

The man sighs, and rolls out from under the car. He holds a spanner; heavy, as long as his forearm. "I'm sorry mate, but I don't know who you think I a-" He trails off halfway through the act of standing up when his eyes- no longer gaunt and haunted- land on Harry.

His face drains of colour. No words escape his open mouth.

"Long time no see, Sirius," Harry says slowly, drinking in his Godfather's features hungrily. The last seventeen years have been kinder on the man than the previous fourteen had. He's aged, for sure. Streaks of grey pass through his thick black hair; his face lined, but no longer gaunt. He looks like a man in his early forties, though he must be in his mid-fifties by now.

"Harry?" he rasps, eyes riveted to him. He nods, swallowing down the almost overwhelming nervousness.

"Yeah."

Sirius visibly flinches and his lips curl back in a snarl. He raises the spanner threateningly, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're  _not_  Harry. If this is someone's idea of a bloody joke, you've got another thing coming to you."

Harry smiles at the angry man in a way he hopes is non-threatening, "It's really me."

His grip on the spanner tightens, " _Bullshit_  you are. My Harry would be in his thirties by now, kid. If you're even a kid that is- what are you? A mutant shape-shifter? I bet you've got a bloody mind-reader in your ranks too, you bastard. Whatever you want me to do, it's  _not_  going to happen."

"Sirius. When I was thirteen, you sent me a Firebolt when my old broomstick was reduced to splinters by the Whomping Willow." He smiles tightly, remembering the disturbing year, "I kept on thinking you were a Grim, the number of times you popped up."

Sirius' mouth narrows to a thin line, but his hand shakes minutely, "Prove it." He bites out.

Harry draws his wand, calmly ignoring the way his Godfather stiffens at the sight. He casts the first spell that comes to mind.

A patronus.

"A shape-shifter wouldn't be able to do that."

Sirius sucks in a deep, shaky breath. He lowers his hand to stroke the incorporeal flank of the stag patronus. His eyes shine wetly, "I don't understand. I thought- I thought I was…" he trails off- voice shaking.

"It's really me, Sirius."

He drops the spanner on a workbench with a heavy  _clang_. "Oh Merlin." He breathes, and moves towards him in several large steps, "Harry." He says as he throws his arms around him; clutching to him like a drowned man, " _Harry._ "

He wraps his arms around his godfather and breathes in the acrid smell of petrol, engine oil and sweat. He almost takes the scent as alien before he realises he can't even remember what Sirius sounded like- let alone what he'd smelt like. He basks in the embrace until the older man pulls away. Sirius stares at him with concerned, wide eyes, "How did you get here? I'd thought- maybe…" he trails off, swallowing back his emotions, "But when no one came I figured… well. That it wouldn't work a second time, I guess."

Harry sighs, guilt puncturing the feeling of happiness swelling in his chest. He forces out a smile, "We came through the Veil too. A few weeks ago now."

Sirius' eyes glance behind him at where Loki stands- expressionless- and back again, "We?"

"Hermione and I."

His godfather sucks in a sharp breath, "Hermione's here too? Where is she?"

Harry smiles at that, "Not too far away. We've been… separated the past week." He huffs a soft laugh, and shifts nervously on his feet. "She's probably not far behind me. Be prepared for shouting… and maybe crying."

Sirius raises an eyebrow in confusion, "Ummm..."

He sighs again, "It's a long story, and probably not the best kind without her."

"But I don't understand- why are you so  _young_? As far as I could tell, this universe and ours ran in tandem."

He glances behind himself again to the empty opening of the garage. The harsh afternoon light outside is almost blinding. "It's a long story."

Sirius' eyes narrow, "What happened to you, Harry?"

"The War happened."

His eyes widen. A muscle in his neck twitches as he clenches his jaw, "I- I feared that would happen. I tried to get back but I couldn't find-" he breaks off; breathes deeply and collects himself. Harry gets the sense that it's a sensitive topic for his Godfather. "I couldn't find the other Veil to get through. Or wizards… only the ruins of a copy-cat Hogwarts Castle."

He sighs again, "Yeah, we found that too."

They fall into an awkward silence for a time, and Harry smiles. He glances pointedly around himself at the workshop, "So… a mechanic?"

Sirius snorts, "They think I'm a mutant, but I've a talent for bringing engines with a death sentence back to life. Can't bring themselves to care about it when I get the job done. It makes good money." A curl of the lip in amusement, "Working for muggles. My mother would be turning in her grave, the old bitch."

They share a good-natured snicker at that, though it's probably not the nicest of things to laugh about.

" _Harry James Potter!_ I  _know_  you're in there- get your arse out here right now!"

He laughs in delight, "Speaking of." He turns away from a bemused Sirius to face the furious Hermione that strides through the garage like she's been there a million times before. He notices in the short seconds before she reaches him that Loki's made himself scarce once again.

Hermione won't be happy about that when she finds out. She falls to a halt in front of him, chest heaving and red-faced.

_Crack!_ She slaps him.

"Jesus  _Christ!_ "

"You idiot!" She yells at him; furious, "How could you have let Loki grab you?! I've been worried  _sick!_ "

He rubs at his cheek- she'd hit him in the same place Loki had, "I couldn't exactly stop him, Hermione."

Like a switch, the temper disappears, "Oh thank Merlin you're okay!" Her hair is a disaster- frizzed about her head like it has a life of its own. She smiles at him like the world's fallen back into its correct order.

"Hey Hermione." She throws herself at him and he barely manages to suppress the flinch. It had been less than an hour since he'd seen her likeness' limbs shattered. The intimacy feels almost too raw for it all so soon after.

Something must have given himself away, and she pulls back- eyes searching. A hand rises to touch his jaw, turning it this way and that as if she could see through the glamour (and to be fair, she probably could; he hadn't exactly put much effort into it).

"What happened?"

"What did the boggart show you? In third grade."

She frowns in confusion, "What are you-"

"Just answer it Hermione," he grits out, trying to ignore the unnerving symmetry of the situation.

She sighs. Pats his cheek and moves away, "Professor McGonagall. She said I'd failed." Harry relaxes marginally and a spark lights back up in her eyes, "Who did you ask to the Yule ball in fourth year?"

He grins, "Cho Chang. She said no."

Behind him, Sirius snorts. She glares at him for the briefest of moments before the recognition flits across his face, " _Oh_."

Sirius smiles- it seems strained. "You've gotten old, Hermione."

She raises an eyebrow. "So have you, I see." She nods towards his greying hairline, "Showing your age, don't you think?" He laughs and they embrace. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Sirius swallows, "So am I."

"What happened to you?"

He smiles wryly, "I woke up in a field with a cow staring at me like it was going to eat me. Felt like I'd fallen from a three storey building- had the compound breaks to prove it." He rubs his right arm absentmindedly, "By some miracle, my wand was nearby. Cleaned myself up and a farmer found me- thought he was gonna shoot me. I think he thought I was trying to steal a cow."

"Speaking of stealing," Hermione says sharply, looking around the place- wand in hand, "Where is he? Where's Loki?"

"Er… he was here a moment ago."

She snarls, "I'll kill him. You've been away for over a  _week_  Harry- a week! Not even my best tracking spells could find you!"

"Sorry?"

She sighs heavily, "Did you even  _try_  to escape?"

"I- yes of course I did!" He fights the guilt at her disappointed question; he could have tried harder, it's true. He could have tried so much harder.

Something must have shown in his face. Her eyes flash dangerously and she opens her mouth to say something sharp-edged and bitter.

Tony chooses that moment to walk in, clueing into the agitation in their voices. "We all good in here, Queenie?" he nods at Harry, "Potter. Glad to see the family psychopath hasn't tried to sharpen his teeth on you."

Sirius' eyes widen, "You're Tony Stark."

"So I am, person I've never met before."

Hermione sighs, ' _Tony_ ," she admonishes, but rests a hand on his forearm with a familiarity that speaks volumes. She turns back to Sirius, "Harry and I were found by… colleagues of Tony." Stark snorts.

"That's one way of putting it."

There is a rumbling from outside, " _Brother!_ " a man who can only be Thor cries out, "Where are you, brother?!"

Tony winces, "Kind of running off the assumption that Loki's not here, what with you being alive and all."

Sirius' jaw drops, 'Bloody hell Harry, you still don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Er… no."

"Steve and Natasha are here too," Hermione says, a slightly uncomfortable look on her face, "They insisted on coming- or, well, Steve did, and Natasha followed."

"As much as a woman like Natasha follows anyone, at any rate." Tony corrects her. She smiles at him; he shifts and looks torn between smiling back and smirking. He takes a step back, "I think you've got this in hand," he says unnecessarily, "I'll leave the three of you be." He leaves, trailing his hand across the white car as he does so.

Sirius watches Tony go with a strange mix of confusion and melancholy on his face, "You know, I never thought I'd get to see the way you collect chaos like old women collect cats again. This universe's James had a son, but he… he wasn't you. Nothing was the same." He huffs a soft laugh, "But I managed it anyway. This whole world was a clean slate for me- well, besides the fact that I don't legally exist." He winks, "It's fun when the tax man comes around."

"Are you-" he breaks off; swallows back the sadness and vulnerability prickling around his eyes, "Are you happy here, Sirius?"

His godfather gives them an odd smile, like he's half happy and half sad. "Yeah I am. I've a good life here. I've a-"

"Dad?" A young voice cuts him off. Harry and Hermione start, "Why are Thor and Ironman outside the shop? I had to- oh." A young boy halts in a doorway at the back of the garage. Harry can immediately see the resemblance between the child and his godfather in the grey eyes, his thick dark hair and the straight line of his nose. He sucks in a shocked breath. The boy looks to be nine or ten years old.

"Dad, are you in trouble?"

Sirius barks out a laugh, "Leo, I'm always in trouble. Your mother makes sure of that." He nods back at the two of them as Leo rolls his eyes, "There are some old friends of mine. They got me out of a tight fix a long, long time ago." His voice softens, "Harry and Hermione saved my life."

The boy does a double take, "What-  _the_  Harry and Hermione?" he stares at them in thinly veiled scepticism; a faint frown line forming between his dark brows, "Why's he look so young? And where's the other one- Ron?"

Beside him, Hermione visibly flinches. Harry lays a hand on her arm in comfort. Sirius eyes her cautiously, but smiles at his son all the same. "Mutant powers come in every shape and size, Leo."

Leo nods like it makes perfect sense. Maybe it does. Harry grins at Leo and ignores the pain in his chest at the thought of Ron. "It's good to meet you."

Leo ducks behind his father, suddenly overcome with shyness. Sirius laughs; loud and free like he's been doing it all his life, "What,  _now_  you're wiggin' out? They were kids once too, you know."

Leo's cheeks pink, but he edges away from his father to clasp Harry's outstretched hand. He still seems to regard him with some suspicion, "That doesn't explain why Thor and Ironman are outside."

Hermione gives him a strained smile. She doesn't move to shake his hand, "They're friends of ours and decided to come along for the ride."

Leo's eyes widen, "You're  _friends_  with the Avengers?" he turns back to Sirius, "Why haven't they come over earlier? Man, wait til the kids at school hear about this- Tyler is going to  _flip_."

Hermione sucks her teeth, "About that. We're kind of trying to keep a low profile, Leo." She crouches to see him at head height. Her voice turns conspiratorial, but genuine. "You have to keep us all a secret. The fate of the world depends on it!"

Leo's eyes widen, a mix of awe and trepidation on his face, "Really?"

"We don't exist, Leo. Only in stories told by your Dad. It's  _very_  important- you'll be protecting the world, just like the Avengers."

He grins at them, the shyness now erased. Hermione straightens up, "Did you really fight a dragon? I always thought Da was lying about that one." Harry's eyes flick up to Sirius for guidance. He had no idea how much Leo knew about them- or possibly, what  _he_  was. Sirius just winks.

He grins slyly at the young boy, "Your old man's exaggerating there a bit. There was far more running and far less fighting involved, the way I remember it."

The awe grows.  _Wow_ , he mouths silently. Harry wonders exactly what kind of stories he's been telling Leo to breed this level of reverence. He looks to his godfather, unsure of what to say in the face of solid proof of the good life he'd made for himself. Never had he imagined Sirius' life would end up anything like this pocket of peacefulness- there'd always been something holding the man back. His chest constricts in happiness and jealous.

They fall into a heavy, awkward silence; Hermione too busy working through a sudden onset of emotion; Harry and Sirius unsure what to say to the person they hadn't seen for seventeen years.

Hermione looks between them and down at Leo. She smiles softly, obviously making a decision. She turns to Leo, "Did you want to meet them?"

"Meet who?"

"The Avengers!"

His eyes look they they're about to pop out of his head, "Hell  _yes_!"

Sirius grimaces, the look of a long-suffering parent on his face, "Language, Leo."

His son rolls his eyes good-naturedly, "Hell's not a swear word Dad, it's a place."

"Uh-huh, and has that defense ever worked on your mother?"

He pouts, "… No."

"Then don't go trying it on me."

"Whatever."

Hermione leads the boy away with a reassuring- if amused- smile and Harry and Sirius are left alone again in the relative silence of the shop.

"A son, huh?"

Sirius laughs through his nose, "Yea. I met Carina a few months after I got here. I- ah…" he chuckles and scratches the back of his head sheepishly, "I still hadn't gotten the hang of the roads being all wrong here- got hit by a car when I was getting some milk. It wasn't too serious-" he amends before Harry can say anything, "Just a few broken bones and some gravel rash. Someone called an ambulance before I had a chance to do anything, and before I knew it I'm in a hospital with both my arms in casts.

"Carina was one of the nurses on my ward." He grins widely, "I somehow managed to convince her to go on a date with me… and eventually marriage."

He fights down the flash of envy, ""I guess you got everything you could have wanted, huh?"

Sirius bites his lip, eyes sliding to the side, "Well, maybe not everything I wanted. But I found everything I needed."

"I'm glad. Leo seems like good kid."

"Yeah, he's pretty great." Silence falls again. Sirius regards him with his grey eyes, "So… you haven't aged."

"Uh, yeah." Harry shifts uncomfortably, "You heard about the Deathly Hallows?" his godfather nods, "Well, they're real. We collected them in the height of the war- never realized their true significance. They… fused with me. Paused me in a state of perpetual teenagerdom."

He winces, "Tough break, kid."

"Tell me about it. It's  _impossible_  for me to get a drink now."

Sirius twirls a spanner between his fingers, "So. You and Hermione are welcome to stay for dinner. Carina's cooking tonight, so you're guaranteed to have food that's not burnt or tasteless."

Harry grins, "That would be great."

"I would invite the rest of your crew… but I'm pretty sure we couldn't afford to feed Stark- let alone the rest of them"

He laughs, thinking back to the obscene amounts of food Thor and Steve could put away in a single sitting, "They shouldn't mind."

_Probably_.

They walk outside to find Thor and Steve laughing heartily like they hadn't come along to ensure Loki didn't make trouble again. Leo is perched on Thor's shoulders and cackling like a maniac.

Sirius grins at the sight, "Wrapped around his little finger already, the suckers." He remarks to Harry. Hermione watches from the sidelines with Natasha- hand resting lightly against her opposite forearm; ready for the moment things go pear shaped. She glances at them briefly as they walk over.

The other wizard sucks in a breath of surprise beside him as he realizes exactly who the rest of Harry's retrieval party are, "Blood  _hell._ I know she said the Avengers, but this is almost  _all_ of them."

Natasha's eyes slide over to them at the expletive, face impassive. Harry can tell she's wondering what he's going to do next. Steve on the other hand smiles at the two of them, wide and bright like the sun. He moves to clasp Harry's arm; his palm is warm and callused, "Harry! It's good to see that you're okay. We were worried." He pulls away, eyeing him with fresh concern, "You are okay, aren't you? With Loki… it can't have been easy."

He gives Steve a reassuring smile, "Yeah I'm good."

The line of Steve's shoulders seem to relax slightly, and he turns to eye Sirius curiously, "You're Harry's godfather, aren't you? Sirius Black? I've heard good stories about you."

They shake hands, "Well, so long as they're  _all_  good."

Steve smiles, but there's something almost melancholic hiding in the corners of his eyes, "They are." He looks between the two of them, "But I reckon you three will want to catch up."

Harry smiles at the super-soldier, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, we'll just find a diner."

"Thank-you"

Thor sets Leo down with a pointed look from Steve- only a little disappointed. They share a high-five and he wonders absentmindedly who took the time to teach him that, "It has been a delight meeting you, young Leo. I pray we meet again soon."

"Totally man. You're like, the  _coolest_." Thor beams in an oddly childish way.

Beside them, Tony pouts.

They withdraw, with well-wishes and smiles from the others. Tony grumbles sulkily.

The four of them stand outside the shop- Leo waving exuberantly to Thor. Hermione raises an eyebrow at the slightly awkward silence that follows-  _once again_.

"So…" She says, rubbing at her bad arm self-consciously, "I hear there was dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I feel like A LOT of people are either going to be really happy, or really mad at me for that. But really, it's been 17 years- at some point, I'm sure he would have settled down and found someone. Sirius is a bit of a charmer, after all. And I had been tossing up whether to name his son Harry, but then decided it would be kind of weird, and so I chose to go down the star/constellation route. Be aware though, that I don't plan on making Sirius a major player in this story line; he does, after all, have his own life, and family, so it doesn't make sense for him to uproot everything for a person he only knew for about two years. Godson or not.
> 
> And holy cow; the latter half of this chapter? Super awkward to write. Like, pulling teeth kind of awkward. Soooo painful. So I hope it's okay, but I really wanted this chapter out of the way. There's only one more chapter left to part two, and then it's on to part three!
> 
> So, I hope everyone enjoyed this! Hopefully, I'll be able to slip back into the fortnightly updates- I have an exam next Monday, but then I'm on holidays, so I'll have far more time to write.
> 
> Later! Please review! It's really awesome to get feedback!


	7. Aim to Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Not dead. Please forgive the lateness- there was a family crisis and I lost the inspiration to write for about a week. It's back now though, so I give you the final installation of Part Two.
> 
> Part three- which will be posted on an irregular update schedule, unfortunately, is mostly a character-driven plot, with precursors for part four interwoven through it (Yes there are four parts to this thing! [ohGodwhydoidothistomyself?!]). Sorry to those who are bored easily by character-driven plots- part three is far moreso than the last two have been, but I aim to still be as engaging as possible.
> 
> Things to look forward to:
> 
> more stuff from Malfoy; several chapters in Hermione's POV, friendship development between our HP characters and the Avengers and lots more!
> 
> Hopefully you'll get a few chapters this month- I'm working on about three at once at the moment- but there are a lots of other things I want to do these holidays- write more chapters of In Context (Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover), a Gravity Falls Reverse!Pines fic, an Avengers one-shot, art stuff, sewing and a whole buttload of other crap, all to be done whilst working full-time. So yeah, GE will be on irregular updates from now on. It's definitely NOT abandoned. Just running at a far slower pace. Sorry-not-sorry.
> 
> Anyways, read on and enjoy.

 

It's nothing like what he'd expected.

Harry had always thought of Sirius vaguely, in terms of finding him and reconciling the image of the man he remembered with the man that was. But he feels somewhat ashamed to admit to himself that he'd never expected his godfather to be so put together. Part of the problem- he suspects- is that his entire relationship with Sirius had been spent beneath the oppressive shadow of the wizard's outlawed status; his liberties and freedom effectively crippled by the bumbling incompetence of the Ministry. The result of it had been a bitter, jaded man, trapped in a house that had never really been his- unable to function like a normal human. Harry had never had a chance to see him truly happy- truly free- and the image he'd conjured of him in his mind reflected that.

To find him with a wife, a child and a profitable job- happy and content with the cards life had given him- was at worst, seriously confronting, and at best, heart-warming in a way that he hadn't felt in what seemed like years.

Part of him hopes Hermione feels the same; if only to assuage the sensation of guilty astonishment he'd felt when he'd first laid eyes on Leo.

They drive to Sirius' house in a beat-up Ford straight out of the nineties- Harry sits awkwardly in the back with Leo. The car runs remarkably quiet for something that looks like it should be heard from miles away. It's also blessedly cool- though he wouldn't necessarily put that down to air-conditioning. Hermione regards the vehicle with interest, and obviously restrains herself from saying anything.

They feel the distinct  _twang_  of heavy wards as they drive up a mock-cobblestone driveway. Sirius parks the car with a slight shudder in front of a modestly sized, Spanish-style home with white-washed brickwork and carefully tended hedges. A novelty garden gnome waves jauntily at them from the portico, wedged between two ceramic plant pots. Harry is struck by how ordinary it all seems. Then again, nothing about any of this is what he expected. Which is not to say it's bad… only different, in a way. And yet its homeliness is still so similar to what he'd seen at the Weasley's.

Leo races ahead, leaving the stained glass door open for them. The inside is just as cool as Sirius' car had been- only the tell-tale hum of machinery proving that this time the temperature is due to muggle means. He half expects to find magically enlarged rooms and moving portraits strewn throughout the house, but it's just as normal as the outside, with walls filled with unmoving landscape paintings and maybe a slightly larger than normal amount of painted vases.

"Sirius?" A woman's low voice calls from another room. His godfather smiles.

"Carina." The other wizard leads them into an open-planned living space, "I brought guests."

A distracted pause, and a handsome woman with almond-shaped eyes and a short bob of straight, dark hair emerges. She smiles at them warmly, with a teasing glint in her eye, "Guests? Late notice, isn't it?"

"They kind of turned up out of the blue." Harry watches the way his godfather's face lights up at the sight of his wife, "Be glad they didn't bring the rest of them. This is Harry and Hermione."

Her face is blank a moment, before realisation dawns, "Oh." She does a double take, "Really?" She eyes Harry dubiously. He can't help but smile at the familiar expression.

"Yeah."

She smiles again, and wipes her hands on her well-worn jeans, "Well then. Let's see if I can rustle up a couple more plates."

* * *

Carina in the kitchen is a familiar sight. She moves around the space with an absent but purposeful air- like she doesn't quite need to think about what she'd doing. It's so reminiscent of Molly- though admittedly, with far less yelling- that it almost brings a tear to his eye.

 _God,_  but he missed that woman.

She insists on them sitting at the kitchen bench as she alters their meal- lasagne and salad. Sirius offers beer for Harry, and wine for Hermione.

"The beer is here is awful unless you go for the microbrews." He states as he hands over an oddly shaped glass bottle. Carina eyes the exchange with suspicion, but says nothing. He can only imagine what it looks like- Sirius giving alcohol to a minor. Likely it will be a problem of his for Merlin knows how long, "I don't suppose you managed to smuggle through some butterbeer?"

Hermione grimaces into her generously filled wine-glass, "If only."

"Firewhiskey?"

Harry laughs at the hopelessly hopeful tone, "Kind of wishing we'd had the foresight to pack it."

"What's fire whiskey?" Leo asks from the dining table. Carina shoots them a reproving frown.

"Like an adult's drink, but a million times worse, kiddo."

Leo makes a disgusted face, "Ew."

Hermione hides her smile in her glass, "Ew, indeed."

"So how long have the pair of you been here?" Carina asks, valiantly trying to steer the conversation into more child-friendly places.

They share a glance, "Over a month." Harry ventures, "We'd have been here sooner, but… well."

"We've had a lot of things on our plate." Hermione supplies. She takes a good sip of her wine, "And Harry's been away for a week…" She glances at Leo, working on his homework behind them, "I didn't want to turn up without Harry- he's by far the more recognizable of the two of us- so I thought it best to wait."

Harry swallows, suddenly feeling like a right berk. Hermione had  _waited_  for him- could have found Sirius ages ago, but had thought it better to wait for him to turn up, whilst he'd just figured he could come find him. What a rubbish friend he was sometimes.

Carina smiles and nods, but Sirius surveys the two of them over his beer, "That a voluntary absence?"

Harry avoids his eye, though his godfather's tone is light-hearted. Carina's hands twitch as she cuts vegetables for the salad, "No." Hermione says, her voice gone dark. She wipes her finger across the condensation forming on her glass, "It wasn't."

The other wizard sighs- exasperated, "I'd say I was surprise, but this must all be old hat to you lot by now."

Harry smiles wryly, "You'd think so; and yet we keep on being surprised."

"Plausible deniability." Hermione remarks sardonically. Carina laughs- it comes off as only a little forced.

"So Leo tells me you came with the Avengers?" Her tone is light and curious. Hermione rolls her eyes.

"We were found by affiliates of theirs when we arrived. Harry's arrival had been rather… auspicious and he fell under their radar- and me by extension. I became acquainted with a number of them whilst he was recovering."

Godfather or no, Harry doesn't miss the way she avoids answering the question with any real detail. He guiltily approves of the measure. Information came at a cost- just like Loki had said. With the public tension surrounding mutants and even the Avengers, Merlin knows what could happen should they learn about wizards. And beyond that, there was always the underlying fear of being discovered by a less-than-salient organisation. He doesn't know what he'd do if  _another_  family was ripped apart because of him.

"Must be interesting, knowing the Avengers."

"Thor put me on his shoulders!" Leo exclaims, kicking his legs excitedly from his chair, "He's, like, a million times better than Ironman!"

Hermione snickers, "I feel like I should record that for posterity's sake."

"I can see Tony appreciating that."

"Full-on man-pout." He catches onto the sentimental tone that leaches through her statement. He raises an eyebrow at her in query- fully aware she's hiding something from him. Hermione just smiles.

 _I'm onto you_. He mouths at her. Hermione winks, but a slight flush tints her cheeks.

_Totally banging._

She clears her throat and looks away, the blush growing stronger, "They're a characterful lot. A couple of egos to work with,"  _and all of them Tony's_ , Harry thinks to himself, "But they're good people."

Carina huffs through her nose, "I'm glad. I'd always wondered- after New York, a lot of people went looking for someone to blame. There was so much damage- so many dead. And when they went looking, they found little to nothing. A number of them just plain-out disappeared- it made many people angry- wondered if New York had just been their playground. There were a few that stayed in the limelight, of course. Tony Stark tore a few of the doubter's arguments to shreds, and Captain America hung around for the clean-up." She smirks, "He's very handsome out of uniform, isn't he?"

Hermione giggles, whilst Harry and Sirius shark a look of mutual consternation, "To be fair, all of them are."

The older woman hums in appreciation, "If I were ten years younger and single…"

" _Husband_. Sitting right here."

"That's nice sweetie. A woman can dream."

Sirius shakes his head in amusement, "She's lying. I was a catch."

Carina nods as she pulls the lasagne and garlic bread from the oven, "That you were, dear. I never have to worry about fixing my car again. It's quite handy."

He pouts, but helps his wife sets out dinner. Leo sets the table when asked- clearing away his untouched schoolwork. Carina refills hers and Hermione's glasses before they sit.

Dinner is a friendly affair, with stories exchanged from either side; both parties keen to relearn facets of the people they'd lost. Carina, it turns out, is an artist in her spare time, and the eclectic mix of abstract landscapes and pottery that litter the house are mostly hers. Hermione remarks on a picture she'd seen above the tv and Sirius launches into a detailed retelling of their travels down Route 66 the year before. He seems so proud- a happy glint in his eye as he recounts it all- like he still can't quite believe his luck, but is still eager to show the people from his old life how far he'd come all the same.

It's been a long time since either of them have been able to properly enjoy a simple home-cooked meal at a dining table with family. He relishes every minute of it, unsure of when he'll next be able to turn up. He offers to clean when they finish- years of working for the Dursley's had left him with a hatred for the chore, but courtesy dictated that he offer. Sirius firmly declines, "You're a guest;" he insists, "Guests don't clean. Besides- sticking things in the dishwasher hardly constitutes as cleaning."

Harry smiles; dishwashers were a blessing. Muggles certainly came up with some great ideas on the constant quest to make life easier.

"So what do you think you'll do with yourselves?" Carina asks. She swirls the last of her wine around in the glass, "Now that you're here?"

Hermione chews thoughtfully on her lip, "We haven't really thought about it, to be honest. Things had been changing so quickly there was never a chance to think about the next big step. I was an Unspeakable, back home." Sirius lets out a low whistle; impressed, "I always enjoyed being a researcher. I wouldn't mind continuing down that line of work, so long as I can get my foot in the door."

Sirius nods, "It's amazing what you can do with magic and technology." Harry thinks back to Sirius' old bike, lovingly modified with magic and muggle means (not to mention the Weasley's unnervingly sentient Ford Anglia). When he was a boy, it had been one of the coolest things he'd ever seen- which was saying something for a wizard.

Their eyes slide over to him, expectant. Harry can only shrug helplessly, "I can't say it's something I put much thought into either. Travel, I guess. See the world. I never had the chance to before." He grimaces, "It would be good to get back to work, I suppose. Do something meaningful."

"Like what?"

He shrugs again, "I used to be an auror, before things went FUBAR back home."

Sirius laughs in delight, "Good on you Harry! James would be proud."

He nods; twirls his empty beer bottle in his hand, "Yeah, well I can't say that didn't have some influence on my career path. But I'd been fighting off dark wizards what felt like my whole life; at the time it just made sense. And now it feels like it's one of the few things I'm good at."

"Well, Quidditch isn't exactly a mainstream sport here." Hermione drawls, leaning back in her seat.

He laughs, "No."

Hermione's phone trills- the perfunctory tone of a mobile owned by one unaccustomed to the frequent use of modern technology. The flush returns as she excuses herself from the table to grab her threadbare beaded purse from the stool she'd been sitting at before dinner. Carina and Leo's eyes widen- the boy mouths a silent 'wow'.

"Undetectable extension charm?" Sirius asks, half bent over the dishwasher drawer.

"Of course. Came in handy on more than one occasion." She pulls out the phone with a triumphant noise from the back of her throat. She frowns as she flicks her thumb across the screen and sends them a sheepish smile, "Excuse me; I'd better take this."

Carina waves her away with a nonchalant flick of the hand, "Go ahead."

Hermione nods and moves out of the living room- he hears (or… well, doesn't hear) the unmistakable absence of noise that marks a privacy charm- odd, but understandable in the circumstances. Sirius and his family were technically civilians, and there was always the possibility that the phone call would involve sensitive or dangerous information. In the lull of conversation, Carina gets Leo to retrieve his homework; intent on him finishing it. Leo sighs and drags his feet like a man off to slaughter and Sirius rolls his eyes.

"Drama Queen."

"Reminds me of someone, don't you think?"

Sirius scoffs, mock-affronted, "Well I never!"

Hermione returns- an apologetic smile on her face, "That was Nat. Thor and Tony are getting antsy. Any longer and there'll be consequences. Beyond that, the Director wanted you back a week ago."

Harry sighs heavily, "I guess that's fair." She nods primly.

"Will you be back?" Sirius asks. The dishwasher beeps cheerily as he turns it on.

"I hope so. If you'll have us."

"The two of you are always welcome here," Carina says with a warm smile. She stands up, "It was a pleasure meeting you. Sirius always talked of his time with you fondly. Don't be strangers; either of you." She delivers the last line sternly, and he and Hermione grin.

"You're going to regret saying that," Hermione drawls as she kisses Carina's cheeks, "He'll be over night and day if you let him."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, "Lies and slander. All of them."

Hermione laughs freely. She pulls pen and paper from her bag and scrawls a number across it; hands it to Carina with a friendly smile, "Call us if you need anything; anything at all. Harry and I have no lives now, so we're available pretty much all of the time." Harry snorts in amusement and gives Sirius another hug.

"You take care of yourself, you hear me?" His godfather orders gruffly, "No more of this running headfirst into danger thing like you used to."

"I don't really think it counts when it's the danger that runs to me."

Sirius sniffs haughtily, "Even so."

Hermione's phone beeps with an incoming text, "Alright. Extraction time; before someone makes a scene."

They withdraw; smiles and hugs all round, and Hermione apparates them to the coordinates Natasha had sent her. They land in a back alley similar to the one he'd first arrived in- only someone here had evidently gone to the trouble of flattening the boxes.

Natasha relaxes against a wall, showing no sign of being startled by their appearance. She lifts a hand in greeting, "Enjoy your meal?"

Hermione smiles, melancholic, "It was good. Strange to Sirius after so long, but good."

The redhead snorts softly, "Bet you weren't expecting the kid, were you?"

Hermione regards the other woman strangely, "No. But you almost sound like you were."

Natasha shrugs, "I get bored."

Harry shifts uncomfortably. Merlin knows what chaos happened when Natasha was  _really_  bored. She seemed like a shit-stirrer. Hermione's eyes narrow further, "Does SHIELD know?"

She smirks, "I thought it prudent to keep to myself. We all have secrets."

The lines of his friend's shoulders loosen and Harry can feel himself involuntarily doing the same, "Thank-you."

She blinks slowly, "I aim to please."

Hermione huffs a laugh, and offers her arm to the other woman, "Well, you aim for something, that's for sure."

"That I do." The Black Widow drawls and takes the witch's proffered arm. Harry feels like he should be mildly terrified at the ease with which the two get along. And glad, too. Hermione had never really had many friends on her level. She was smart- sharp as a knife- and when they were children undeniably bossy (much of which had inevitably translated into adulthood); driven by an intimidating need to succeed. It left her isolated and unapproachable. Kind of exactly like Natasha seemed, when uninterested in being friendly. And he'd seen it happen- back in SHIELD when addressing other agents; even when walking down the corridors of the Helicarrier (alternately, when speaking to Tony in a particularly obnoxious mood).

He follows behind them- eyes catching on the shadows of the alley- waiting for someone (translate: Loki) to pop out and catch them by surprise. It would be just his luck too, to be so close to safety and the people he'd probably call friends, only for shit to hit the fan once again. He extends his magic in search of anything- fading out Hermione and Natasha's banter- but there's nothing there but his own paranoia.

Tony, Thor and Steve are waiting for them outside the diner. Thor looks sheepish under the stern gaze of Captain America's disapproving glare, but Tony appears immune, "Incognito! Subtlety! These are the things we try to achieve when trying to enjoy ourselves in public." he catches Steve hissing at the pair. Harry wonders how many times he's had to go through that speech before.

Steve visibly calms as he spots them, "Hey! You have fun?"

He and Hermione nod, "Yeah, it was good."

His grin goes wry, "You ready to go back to the tower?"

Harry takes note of the pains in his feet, and the dull ache of newly healed wounds on his back. He feels bone tired, like he could sleep for a whole week, but also content in a way he hasn't felt for a long time. He feels like things may finally be going upward for him and Hermione. He smiles at the supersoldier. "You have no idea."

It  _has_  been a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I understand this is a week late; forgive me, please. Life and stuff happened. Like I said before, this is the final chapter of part two and it's a little shorter than I would have liked but so sue me.
> 
> I can't give you a definite for when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully it will be up in the next couple of weeks. Fingers crossed it's less!
> 
> Please review!


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